A Year in the Life of Optimus Prime: Five
by BuckeyeBelle
Summary: Misunderstandings lead to trouble, and Soundwave makes his move.
1. Chapter 1

A Year in the Life of Optimus Prime: Five

By Buckeye Belle and Vivienne Grainger

Chapter 1

(A.N. Transformers belongs to Hasbro and whoever they have allowed the rights to it, which certainly doesn't include me. No money has been made from this fanfic and no copyright infringement is intended. All I own are my OCs.

This story contains religious and spiritual discussion drawn from various religious paths both real and fictional. Those who wish not to be exposed to religions other than their own should turn back now.

This is the seventh story in The Sidhe Chronicles series. Previous stories are "Swords and Jewels," "The Sidhe Chronicles 2: Dark of the Moon," and the first four stories of "A Year in the Life of Optimus Prime." This is a separate AU from the "Come on up for the Rising" verse.

"Normal speech"

::Silent speech (Internal radio or through a bond)::

Scene Break: -Sidhe Chronicles-

Thanks to my beta and co-author, Vivienne Grainger. /A.N)

-Sidhe Chronicles-

(Cybertron, at the dawn of war)

Orion Pax hurried through the streets, his university cloak drawn tight around him. Vorn had passed since he had played on the streets of Lowtown as a sparkling. His high-caste markings had drawn little attention from the shopkeepers and laboring-caste mecha that he lived among, for they all knew he was the fosterling of Ironhide and Chromia. No one had much, but they all knew each other's designation. When necessary, they would all pull together to help out a neighbor who had fallen into misfortune.

Their "little" had always somehow been "enough." He had always had enough energon in his small tank, a roof over his helm, and most importantly, the secure knowledge that he had a place in his family.

Much had changed since then. Oh, he still had enough...since being taken into the palace, he had lived in wealth and security unimagined to most mecha on all of Cybertron. But when he sought the comfort of cohort, especially since his recent falling-out with his brother, he returned to the place that would always be home.

It had not been very long ago that the trip from the palace to Lowtown had been a pleasant ramble. A clerical-caste mechling in a university cloak was by definition an impoverished student, beneath the notice of those who might think to do him harm. There were enough such academic vagabonds in Iacon that one more was of no consequence. Once he left the university district, he no longer stood out as one of the princes of the palace. He was simply one of the people.

But now, that carefree stroll was no more. When energon had become scarce, a mech was as likely to get coshed in an alley for the fuel in his lines as for the valuables in his subspace. He stayed in the middle of the street and did not dally.

At the same time, Orion did not transform into alt mode and speed through the streets—that profligate waste of energon could attract worse than the evil eye from mecha who scrambled to acquire enough cubes to keep themselves and their families functional. He did not truly relax until he turned into his own cul-de-sac, where any mecha he passed knew him for "little Orion, Hide and Chromia's foundling made good."

As he passed through the familiar rusty old archway into their apartment commons and greeted the two old geezers who served as unofficial doormechs, he wondered if this would be the last time he made this familiar journey incognito.

His two aunties—Chromia's twin sisters, junior to her and actually a little younger than he—hugged him as they let him into the apartment. Immediately, he was mobbed by family, surrounded by their love and welcome. He saw Ironhide every day, for the big black mech had arranged to be his armsmaster not three orn after he had been taken from them, but that did not stop him from throwing an arm around his foster-father's shoulders. He had seen Chromia and her sisters almost as often. But the rest of the cohort—Ironhide's parents, his brother and nephews, the ill-tempered medic, Ratchet, who had been as good as a brother to Ironhide since Primus knew when—sometimes Optimus went many orn with only Ironhide's news of them.

As for the rest…he was home. Among the shabby furnishings and dilapidated walls that marked the place he always thought of himself as "coming from."

He unsubspaced several cubes of energon and gave them to Chromia. His visits could at least insure that his family would be fed for a few orn. For the twins, he had a small plate of energon goodies—his own dessert, subspaced when no one had been looking. He often saved such things and gave them away, guilty that frivolities like that were available at his whim but out of reach for others. He was pleased by the twin femmelings' happy squeals as they shared the bounty out to their family.

Chromia asked, "How long can you stay?"

"I should spend the night, I think. It would be unwise to be out wandering the streets during first joor." He smiled down at Arcee, and put his large hand on her helm.

Ironhide grunted, "Ya got that right. The other night, there were a mob of empties down by the railyard. I don't know how they got up there unless they stowed away in an unlocked boxcar, but it took a bunch of us to round 'em up. Never saw that kind of trash up here before—or within three or four levels, for that matter. I told the femmies, I want 'em back here a quarter-joor before day's end, while there are still plenty of mecha on the streets."

"From what I saw tonight, I agree with you entirely." Arcee, still under his servo, assumed a pout. "On the way down here, I had the sense that I could easily have been seen as prey. I think my university cloak has outlived its usefulness as a way to blend into the scenery."

Chromia suggested, "Come, sit." They ranged themselves along what humans would later come to call a sofa, this one sagged with age and rubbed along its arms. "Maybe you ought to wear your acolyte's tabard instead. It would be safer, even if you do get stopped and asked for a blessing every other block. Surely nobot would try robbing a temple mechling."

Orion replied, grinning, "There is that. Maybe we should consider pledging the twins to the temple for a vorn or so."

Flareup, playing strateka with Ratchet, yelled, "We don't want to be temple maidens!"

Chromia said, "Not a bad idea, now that you mention it! You could get your training as healers through the temple, then go to work with Ratchet. Some time in the temple wouldn't hurt you two Pit-spawn at all!"

Arcee said, "Admit it, sister, they'd throw us out inside the orn!"

Flareup added, "Or the roof would fall in!"

Ratchet added mildly, "Or I would."

As their elders laughed, Orion shook his head. His small aunts were probably right about that.

Chromia shared out a cube of the energon that Orion had brought in, and brought a bag of rust sticks out of the pantry to add to the impromptu feast. They visited, caught up on everything Orion had missed, and gossiped about all the neighbors, until the cohort all went to their own apartments and Chromia sent the twins to recharge for school the next day.

Ironhide said, "Mechling, what's the matter?" He gestured Orion to the seat next his on that sagging sofa.

Orion sat, and put his elbows to his knees, leaning forward to clasp his servos. "You know me too well. Megatron did not return to the palace."

"You think he did have something to do with that bombing that killed Zeta Prime?"

"I would rather think that he did not, but when I asked him where he had been the orn before the explosion, he had no explanation for me. He was only furious that I asked."

"He fell in with a bad crowd around the Kaon arena. I think he's got into some of the shadier fights, too—there are illegal arenas where it's more than bare servos and practice weapons. Mecha fight to the death down there."

"I have heard of those places, of course, but surely the Lords Protector would no more allow him to become involved than the Primes would allow me to do so."

Ironhide gathered what wisdom there was to be found from the corner of the small room. "Not sayin' they allowed it. But it's a logical reason why he wouldn't want to tell you where he'd been."

"So it is."

"On the other servo...I can't say for a fact that I don't believe he could have been involved. I know you two have a brother bond, son, but that's the truth. He's changed in the past vorn or so and I don't think it's in a good way."

"He has blocked our bond. I believe he means to sever it before he is asked to take vows as my Protector."

"Aw, Orion. Frag."

Orion's mouth set in a way Ironhide had known very well since shortly after he and Chromia took an orphan in. Then as now, it signified that a formidable will was being brought to bear. "I will not bind anyone to me against their wishes."

"I know you wouldn't, but you kids used to be so close. I can't count the number of times you two sat right here arguin' politics, figurin' out how you were gonna change the world."

"Sentinel Prime refuses to present me to the All-Spark for my elevation. With Zeta Prime dead, with unrest everywhere—and now, you say that empties are leaving the Underground—it is time, Ironhide. This has passed caution to the point of defying the will of Primus."

Ironhide reached out to clasp his foster-son's shoulder. "I'll defy Primus or anyone else to keep you safe, mechling. You do this before you're ready, they'll carry your cold gray frame out of the temple. I don't ever want to live long enough to see that, d'you understand me?"

"I do understand, Ironhide, and it is not my intention to worry you. I—there is always a chance that I could fail the upgrades. I know that. But if I do not do this, I will have to request an ordinary adult upgrade soon, or risk remaining a mechling forever. Had Primus intended that for me, he would never have marked me with this sigil." He laid a hand over his spark, where the sigil lay on its casing.

"Talk to Ultra Magnus," the old black bot said, after a few moments' thought. "He's a medic, ain't he? If he agrees that you're ready, then do what you have to do. And then Megs will have to face up to his responsibilities, and take his place as your Protector."

"That is wise counsel."

"Comes from livin' as many vorn as I have. Don't jump into things with both peds before you're ready, and ya might get there yourself someday."

"Ironhide, when I have spoken to the other Primes who were elevated after the Matrix was lost, they tell me that it was their ties to those that they love, and who love them, that carried them through the ordeal. Those who failed have tended to have fewer ties. Things may be strained between my brother and me, but I will always have my cohort. You and Chromia are not merely cohort to me, you are my Guardians. I know that when I go into the Temple, I will have your support."

"Always, kid, come what may, I swear to Primus I'll have your back."

"I have never doubted that," Orion said, and that, for both of them, was the end of the conversation. Orion found his way to his old room, and recharged very soundly in it, surrounded by those he loved.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Orion raced to keep up with Ultra Magnus as his elder strode through the crystal garden surrounding the Palace. "Magnus, I do not understand why Sentinel Prime wishes to protect me, but you and I both know, the time for that has passed. Our people are rioting because they have no energon and no _hope. _I do not know what Primus intends for me to do about it—but certainly He does not wish me to hide in the palace pretending to be a child while my people are dying!"

"Joining Ariel in the Well of All Sparks cannot save a single one of them," the Magnus said, and Orion, oddly, felt himself relax. This was a truth, and he could rely on Ultra Magnus to tell him that.

He nearly clipped a crystal in his haste to stay near Ultra Magnus. "No. But perhaps accepting my destiny as Prime, and living on without her, _can."_

The supreme ruler of all Cybertron exvented, remembering his own elevation, and surrendered to destiny. "So be it, mechling. If you fail, I will pray for Primus to send your spark back to us without delay—but _do not fail_. We cannot afford to wait for you to grow up again!"

"I will not fail you, Ultra Magnus."

"Don't worry about failing me, mechling. It is yourself that you must not fail."

Orion offered the elder a grin many vorn beyond those he had so far achieved, and said, "I won't fail either of us."

And the Magnus thought, during the evening as he prepared himself for recharge, that this young mech was the first Prime candidate he had ever known to approach the ordeal with a sense of humor. He found himself hoping, for reasons beyond those of duty, that the mechling would succeed.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Orion looked around in confusion. He had no idea how long the agonizing series of upgrades had lasted, or even precisely what changes had been made in his frame and processor...and his spark. No one had ever told him that it was possible for spark-level programming to be overwritten, but now he understood that it was that which truly set a Prime apart from all other mecha: from his people. For the rest of his life, he was Primus' own.

Now, that painful process seemed to have run its course, but he no longer lay in the shadow of the All-Spark. Instead, he was in what must be an organic world, though he saw nothing organic, only sand and stone.

"Orion?"

The voice was that of a femme, and at first he thought it was Chromia. That was good—it must be time for him to wake up. He shook his helm, but the dream did not end.

"I am here. Who calls me?"

A tall femme stepped from between two boulders. Her plating and her optics were a brilliant green, and she had the sturdy frame of a bot designed for hard work. Her servos bore the myriad small scars of a life lived at the bench and the forge. Yet, for one so strong, her voice was infinitely gentle. "I am Solus. Welcome, brother Prime. By what designation shall I know you now?"

"I am Optimus, Lady Prime. Have I failed my ordeal? Is this the Well?"

"No, only a place very near it. You have not failed. You have so very much to do before your destiny brings you here to stay. A hard road lies before you. May courage, and wisdom, and honor travel it with you always, my son."

Optimus began to say, "I thank you, Solus," but awakened in the temple, bathed in the warm light of the All-Spark. He stood carefully, and nearly fell because his frame had changed so much. He was at least a third again taller, and much more massive, not least due to the heavy battle armor he now bore.

New subroutines unpacked themselves, allowing him to deal with the higher center of gravity and increased mass. There were other things—weaponry, modifications to his alt mode and transformation sequence, and—a new cohort bond, with all the other Primes both living and dead. That, perhaps, was the greatest change of all.

His HUD flashed with a series of alerts and error messages. He crossed to a basin of energon, there for the use of the Primes, and now Optimus fully understood why it was there. Harnessing the power of the All-Spark required effort. His tanks were dangerously low. He dipped a cup into the basin, and offered a libation to the All-Spark before drinking.

Even after refueling, the doors to the All-Spark chapel were nearly beyond his power. But the temple's priests had been keeping vigil outside, and as soon as he emerged, they rushed to assist him.

"Where are the other Primes? What has happened?"

The chief priest said, "Forgive me, Prime, but Guardian Prime is dead. Assassinated; Megatron has claimed responsibility. Sentinel Prime is on his way back to the city. The rest of the Primes and their Protectors are holding the Hall, for now, but the city has gone insane. There are rioters and looters everywhere. A rumor circulated that the Primes are hoarding energon under the Hall."

"That is impossible. I know the undercroft like the back of my servo, from studying in the records repositories down there. If there were energon stores of any size at all in those galleries, I would have seen some evidence of it. Guardian, murdered? And my brother says he did it?"

"He was shot with a fusion cannon, Prime."

Optimus felt an enormous pain seize him. He dismissed it, he had to, and took a few klicks to steady himself, then observed his new cohort bonds. Yes, there was a difference between Sentinel, Ultra Magnus, Nexus, Lio and Alchemist on one servo, and Guardian and the others who had crossed over before them. They were not _gone,_ precisely. He knew Guardian and Zeta's field patterns in the cohort bond, and now that he had met her, he could pick out Solus' presence as well. He could guess at other identities. But there was an unimaginable distance between them.

Optimus looked at the chief priest—it would take a great deal of getting used to, this looking down at such mecha. He was probably taller than Ironhide now. "I must go to the Hall."

"My lord, with respect, you will never get in. There are too many glitched mecha in the streets, and Megatron controls all approaches to the Hall."

"Maybe not all of them. As I said, I know the undercroft and the surrounding sublevels very well. I know I can get as far as the Plaza. I have to try."

"At least, be fully refueled before you go." The smaller mech offered him a full cube.

"Thank you," he said, taking it carefully in a hand that now dwarfed it. "That is wise."

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Optimus descended into the catacomb levels of the temple. It was the custom of the temple mecha to donate anything usable in their frames to the clinics that cared for the poorest Cybertronians. The rest of their mortal remains were interred here, generations of them. No one came here any more, for as Cybertron built outward from the planetary core, what had once been ground level was now several sub-basements deep—and those old levels went all the way to that core.

In better times, Optimus had spent many happy joor exploring these ancient tunnels and rediscovering Cybertron's forgotten past. Sentinel and Guardian had set him strict limits, for exploring too far from the warmth and light of areas frequented by ordinary mecha put one at risk of running afoul of criminal gangs, bands of desperate empties, or deadly mecha such as Insecticons. Also, Cybertron had its share of silicon-based wildlife, such as the terrifying drillers, leviathans of the abandoned places.

Orion being Orion, he had pushed those limits, and had learned his way around under Central Iacon very well. That knowledge served Optimus now. While he often caught glimpses of bobbing lights, and heard running peds and rough voices in the old main corridors, he made his way through lesser-used side passages where none of the rioters saw a reason to venture.

A glimmer of light from the door and windows of a gutted building nearly made him jump out of his plating, and every horror story he had ever heard about the fate of some hapless bot cornered by a gang of empties went immediately to the top of his decision queue. That was definitely a set of optics. Without conscious thought, he extended an energon dagger.

In its light, he saw a decrepit old bot scramble further back into the ruined building, stopping only when his back hit a wall. Optimus retracted the dagger. "Easy, old mech. I mean you no harm."

"You're not one o' them gangsters runnin' wild over in the Alley?"

"No. I'm not on any kind of energon raid or anything like that."

"Neither are they. Saw 'em carryin' slag in, not out!"

"What kind of slag?"

"Energon cubes!"

"Do you know where the old temple market is? Down this way and through this residential area?"

"Yes."

"The rioters haven't been in there much. If you go that way, you can reach the old market stairs. Now don't go up there, I heard shooting from the new market. But if you go down the old market stairs, you'll find a plaza with a collapsed balcony blocking half of it. Go around that, then take a corridor with a red mark on the right hand wall. Follow it until the first ramp going up. You'll be right across a byway from the back temple gate. Go there and beg sanctuary; you'll have to give up any weapons you're carrying but they'll let you in."

"Thank you, young Lord. Who shall I tell the priests sent me?"

"Optimus. My name is Optimus."

The old bot went where he was told. Optimus continued on. When he passed a dry energon fountain, he knew he was under the council hall gates.

If the Primes were holding the council hall, then he was sure every entrance would be blocked from the inside. If the rioters couldn't get in, he wouldn't be able to do so either. He concentrated on his new clan bond with the Primes and found the one with Ultra Magnus.

::Where are you?::

::By the dry fountain on sub-level three. How can I get to you?::

::You cannot. Sub-level one is full of bots. We have them locked out, but that will not last for long. They are digging their way through the floor, they will be in the council chamber soon. There is no way out for us. Get out of here and try to find Sentinel.::

::I cannot leave you here!::

::It will do no good for you to die with us. This crowd is convinced that we have been hiding energon from them. They hold us responsible for their hunger. We have decided not to fight them when they break through. There are too many of them for us to hope to escape. Mass carnage would make no difference in the ultimate outcome.::

::Megatron is at the main gate with a small group of his followers. If I can clear the plaza for just a few moments, we can all escape into the sub-levels.::

::Optimus! I understand that you must try, but Megatron is a pit fighter and you are new to your upgrades. If this fight goes against you, I command you to try to escape.::

::Yes, Magnus,:: Optimus said, with unwilling obedience; but as Magnus the bot had the right to order all of the junior Primes so.

He backtracked and found a narrow upwardly-spiraling ramp that he commonly used to get down here, which opened into a guard house near a wall that surrounded the entire palace complex. But he found that the doorway was too small for him now. He broke out the wall to make room to squeeze into the small space and climbed as quickly as its claustrophobic dimensions would allow.

He had to kick out another door frame at the top to get out, and that resulted in his first fighting of the day. Three large, rusty bots with the dim, colorless optics of empties burst in and immediately attacked, heedless of the odds in their desperation for the energon in his tanks.

Optimus backstepped and ignited his energon daggers, his only suitable weapon in these confined quarters. The empties didn't even pause, since the only thing they were capable of processing was the presence of energon. Optimus activated the combat programming acquired in his many joor of training with Ironhide.

The three of them went down easily. They didn't even scream, just fell off-line. Optimus knew that most empties were beyond help, their memories so corrupted that nothing processed except the need to feed and survive. He knew that off-lining them was probably a mercy—especially if their sparks were at all aware of what they had become. Even so, he had never killed a mech before.

All he could do was shove the horror he felt into the back of his processor, because there was no time to deal with it. He stepped over the bodies and peeked out the door. Beyond the recessed doorway, a dozen empties shambled around the plaza, while Megatron and his cronies argued on the council hall steps at the other side of the square. From the gestures, he concluded that they were trying to determine the best way to bring the doors down. With Megatron was a silver-gray seeker and a large stocky mech with one optic. He recognized neither.

The seeker was potentially the most dangerous, but not in the confined area of the plaza where he didn't have room among the surrounding buildings to fly very well. Here, his lighter frame and armor put him at a disadvantage.

That left Megatron, and the one-eyed mech. Optimus had sparred with Megatron enough to know that they were probably fairly evenly matched now, even though his brother still had a bit of height and reach on him. Megatron's most important advantage was his experience in the arena.

The one-eyed mech might also be a gladiator. He was certainly a war-frame, very heavily armored, and the cannon he was carrying scanned as extremely powerful. He seemed to move more slowly than Megatron, though appearances could be deceiving. Like many large mecha, Ironhide too seemed to move slowly—when not in combat.

The three huge mechs had taken the worst possible position, from Optimus' point of view. The Council and their defenders had taken refuge in the council chambers, which were located just off the Council Hall itself, a large auditorium where the Primes held court. The council chambers were located straight down a long corridor, which would be a killing ground if Megatron got the huge outer doors open and held the corridor with that fusion cannon. Optimus doubted even Blastaar, Ultra Magnus' mighty Lord High Protector and sparkmate, could withstand enough direct hits from that weapon to reach Megatron.

Optimus certainly could not. He had no chance, either, unless he could close quickly enough to force a hand-to-hand battle. But crossing the plaza by surprise was not an option with hungry empties wandering the area. Optimus, despite the urgency of the situation, stopped to see with new eyes the area so familiar to him.

The hall was surrounded by a framework of decorative girders and buttresses—during the festivals of his childhood that latticework had shimmered like lace made of light. Now, perhaps, it offered him a pathway. He darted to the nearest building—the city administration center—and climbed its wall, taking advantage of his newly-greater strength and reach to haul himself to the roof. The entire time his spark threatened to pulse its way out of his chest plates. All he had to do was dislodge one brick, and if he were unfortunate enough to do that in an area where one of the crowd saw it fall, the mob of empties would be on him like turbofoxes after a cybercat.

Once he got to the roof, he ducked below the short wall surrounding it and touched on his cohort bonds again, searching for Sentinel. ::Where are you? Megatron has led a mob to storm the Council Hall! They're breaking through into the lower levels, and Megatron, a seeker and another huge mech are holding the main entrance.::

::I am nearly to the city gates, but it does not look as though there is a way in. They have created a barricade here that would take too much time to blast through. I am going to try to get into the city by way of the refuse tunnel. Stay where you are until I arrive.::

::Prime, I am sorry, but there is no time for that. I am about to start a fight with Megatron. At the very least, I hope to distract them from the main doors so that the rest of the Council can escape the building.::

::Understood. If I can get into the refuse tunnel, it should not take me long to reach the other side of the government complex.::

::Whatever you do, you must not go inside, sir. A mech saw some of those bots carrying a large number of energon cubes under there. I suspect that they plan to use it to blow up the building, just as they killed Zeta Prime.::

::I see. Assassination is not enough for them. They must destroy our reputations as well.::

::The only way to avoid making martyrs of us.::

::Indeed. Primus guard you, brother.::

::And you...brother," Optimus said, jarred by the realization that "brother" was the honorific he needed to be using now. Not "sir," which implied lower status on his part, but "brother." A Prime addressed another Prime so. He was now a Prime.

There was another tense moment when he jumped twenty feet from the roof to the beam. At least they were outdoors, where there was no atmosphere to carry the sound. Still, somebot might see his movement out of the corner of an optic, or the network of beams might carry the vibration: somebot near enough could feel it through the surface beneath their peds. He readied his ion cannon and waited for a few klicks, but no alarm was raised.

Optimus crawled across the beam, hoping that by keeping his frame close to it and scuttling across, he would be less noticeable than if he stood and maglocked his peds to it—as any intelligent bot would when crossing a metal beam over a long drop!

Speaking of that long drop...

He crossed to the facade of the Council Hall, and it was definitely a long way down.

The seeker was directly below him, and intent on Megatron.

Optimus let out a long exvent to steady his nerves, and jumped, firing his ion cannon at that huge one-eyed gladiator as fast as he could trigger the weapon.

His frame hit the seeker, who had the sense to fold up under him and ground the impact. Seekers, of course, were used to being tackled from any angle in the airborne servo-to-servo combat for which they were famous. Still, few seekers had Optimus' mass. Temporarily stunned, the seeker's first priority was to get out of the melee and protect his wings.

The big mech had been hit a few times and thoroughly startled, but not badly enough to stop him from using his cannon as a club to try to smash Optimus' helm in. The seeker filled the airwaves with curses as Optimus dodged and the blow fell directly between them. Optimus grabbed a surprised Megatron and threw him into the one-eyed mech as hard as he could, then launched himself at both of them, servos flying.

Megatron let out a furious bellow, and punched and kicked back.

Later, they would stop thinking with servos and peds, and make a much more serious effort to kill one another than they did here and now, attempting only to pound one another senseless. But they were young, and still, in spite of everything, innocent . It was more a schoolyard brawl than a battle.

Despite that, neither Prime nor warlord pulled any punches.

An empty bit into the big one-eyed mech's ankle. He let out a horrified yell and shot it, point blank. Pieces of it sprayed into the crowd. Some retreated, while others fell upon the remains in an energon frenzy.

The seeker shrieked, ::Shockwave, you fool, I thought you said you could control those fraggers!::

::There's no controlling them once they detect energon,:: the big grounder replied. ::Megatron, grab him! If we don't throw him to the mob, they'll turn on us as well!::

::I'm trying!::

Optimus kicked out, catching Shockwave in the chest plates, and staggered to his peds. He triggered his energon daggers and swiped at the mech, truly afraid they would throw him to the mob to be torn to pieces.

A blast into the center of the mob threw some of the empties around like stringless puppets, and disoriented the rest. Optimus made out a familiar black form wading through the confusion.

::Ironhide!::

::Didn't think I'd let ya keep all the fun for yourself, did ya? MAKE WAY, YOU SLAGGERS!::

From the shelter of the gate, Chromia sniped at stragglers, while Ratchet activated his surgical saws and followed in Ironhide's wake.

Ironhide squared off with Shockwave and the two big mechs traded a series of frame blows that would have broken a smaller, less heavily armored bot in half. That freed Optimus to deal with his wayward brother.

Optimus asked, ::Why, Megatron? What made you think this is the way?::

::It is the only way there will ever be any real change! Join me, my brother, fight for the people instead of these bloated parasites who care nothing for the suffering and death that they cause!::

::Every life has value, no matter the caste! You knew that once. Where there are abuses, let us fight them within the law, not create even more suffering and death!::

::You are a naive fool if you think you can change anything while you become part of the system! Those mecha in there will never allow you to change anything!::

::How will you ever know that if you refuse to so much as try?::

In the years to come, Optimus often wondered what would have happened had Sentinel delayed his arrival by just a few klicks. But Megatron never got the chance to answer that question.

Sentinel came over the wall, firing an ion cannon into the mob and nearly hitting Ironhide.

The armsmaster bashed two empties' helms together and glared at the Prime. Sentinel redeemed himself for the moment by stepping into the fray and cutting down a group of empties who thought to charge Ironhide while he was distracted.

Sentinel leapt to the plinth of a statue and, from there, launched himself over several empties to land on the steps. He slashed Shockwave and shoved him off the steps, where he fell near the seeker, who had taken little part in the fighting except for a shot now and then, usually to keep empties off the stairway.

Sentinel asked Optimus, ::Are you still bonded to this traitor?::

::Yes, Prime. He has blocked our bond, but it still exists.::

::Then it seems I must let him live for now. Guardian would have had my helm if I risked your life to avenge him. Mechling, surrender now, and I will reconsider removing your arms and legs.:: Sentinel held his double-ended Primax blade at the ready, prepared to make good on that threat.

An explosion from below them shook the courtyard.

A second blew all the windows out of the Council Hall, flame quickly evaporating in vacuum.

Ironhide yelled at them to get down, and tackled Optimus, bearing them both over the side of the stairway. Ratchet immediately obeyed, throwing himself flat and crossing his arms over his helm.

Sentinel hesitated an astroklick too long. The third explosion ripped the hall apart, flinging him far out into the plaza like a child's toy. Debris flew in all directions, blinding everyone. Every comms channel filled with pleas for help from those of Megatron's followers who had been caught in the blast, as well as incoherent cries of distress from the empties, nearly all going abruptly silent an instant later. The center of the plaza collapsed and a gout of flame shot straight up like fireworks, before dying for lack of oxygen.

The remains of the Hall fell next, hidden by the cloud of dust which had formed. Slowly those particles began to settle, revealing only jumbled wreckage where once the pride of Cybertron had stood, welcoming all comers, for uncounted generations.

Optimus screamed and clapped his hands to his helm. Probably only the fact that his cohort bonds to the other Primes were so new saved him from a very dangerous processor crash—that, and Ironhide was right there in the much stronger cohort bond that they had shared for vorn.

As Optimus fell into stasis lock, his last coherent thought was that they were at war.

End Part 1


	2. Chapter 2

(Disclaimers in Part 1)

(Present Day, Mission City Base)

Diarwen pulled her jacket around her. When they had first come here, the temperature during the day had commonly been in the triple digits. She expected that. They were in the desert. But as winter approached, they had been lucky to get out of the seventies, and the nights were near freezing. Her circle met very early in the morning, the only time they had free from their duties on the base, but blue fingers and frozen toes were hardly conducive to magical learning.

Evanon stamped his feet trying to get warm. "We might have a fire, if there were anything around here to burn..."

"Aye, if there were, we might," she answered. But all she could see that might burn were a few dried-up tumbleweeds. A campfire made of those seemed unlikely to last for long.

Even the bots were miserable. Optimus' size was an advantage, allowing him to hold heat more efficiently, but even he had his armor flared out to trap a layer of warm air. Diarwen began to see why they had to take on a special "comet" form to stay long in space, and why they preferred to travel in ships. Without using virtually all their mass to insulate their spark and processor, the energon requirements to survive a long exposure to the cold of space would be prohibitive unless they had an alt mode specifically designed for space travel.

Diarwen figuratively threw her mental notes for today's lesson over her shoulder. Today she would teach survival magic.

"This is miserable! Anyone who wishes to spar can keep warm that way, but I am going to teach the rest of you a few things to deal with such a situation as this. Optimus, could I ask you for a small amount of mana?"

"Certainly." He drew up mana from the earth around him and channeled it into their lightly touching fields, pushing it out until Diarwen could capture it. She used it to summon Fire, which she controlled to heat a large boulder—slowly enough that it did not crack and shoot off rock chips. The stone would radiate heat for a long while. Everyone gratefully gathered around, Jazz and Prowl behind the ring of much smaller organics. The three bots trapped the warmth nicely, and put off some of their own so the organics' backs did not freeze quite so badly.

Child of the ice barrens, Diarwen well understood how a campfire could define home, and thanked Brigit of the Forge as well as her Element for the comfort so granted.

Evanon's eyes widened at the ease with which the pair had done that—no circle cast, no magical preparation of any kind, simply will manifest into the physical world. "Goddess! My lord, you might be as new to magic as I—but you are no novice to control."

Optimus glanced down to him, and smiled. "No, I am not. I have been trained in meditation techniques since I was as young as you. Not in years, but at the equivalent of your stage of development. The skills are the same, though I now turn them to a different purpose than my teachers ever imagined possible."

"I see," Evanon said, though of course he could not. No one save Burnout had any idea of what his training involved any longer, Optimus realized with a pang. Still, it was good to have one among them with whom he did not have to guard his tongue. And it was good to know that the young Primes of the future would not need to face their elevation without the guidance of the Matrix. No one else would need to risk their lives as he had done.

Diarwen smiled. "The rest of you, raise energy. I would have you learn to do this without casting a circle—indeed, if possible, without using any tools at all. It need not be a great deal of energy, especially if all you need to do is set fire to wet kindling or the like—learning to do this under conditions of duress may save your lives one day. Learning to summon mana at will is the difficult part. Once you have done that, I will teach you a few things that will make us a bit more comfortable out here. I do admit to showing off a bit with the stone there. You must be very careful if you ever attempt that. Think of choosing stones for a fire ring when you are camping. The wrong sort of stone, heated too quickly, can easily explode into sharp fragments. While you will not be burned by a flame that you control, shrapnel is a different thing."

Evanon said, "I never understood that, milady. If we were to touch a hot brazier, we would be burned. But if we were to control the Fire within it...?"

"A good question. The hot coals within would no longer be a danger to you. But the material of the brazier itself, once warmed by a fire you control? That is not a source of heat that you have immunity to." She waited until she saw that they all understood, and then she said, "If you have enough affinity with Fire to take control of an existing small fire, that can be greatly advantageous to you. But as with the exploding stone I spoke of, you can still be harmed by _effects_ of the flame you control, though not the flame itself. This is why you must have a care with any elemental work."

The youth nodded, and the group began their assignment.

Once they had all succeeded in raising and containing enough energy for small workings, she taught them to use it to warm themselves from within. "At your level, it takes concentration. Sleeping in cold conditions would be very dangerous, so you will still require good winter gear."

Mikaela let out a sudden yelp, jumping around and shaking her hand wildly. She grabbed her ring off, dropped it, swore, tried to pick it up and yelped again. She took a pen from her pocket and used it to pick up the ring. "What the—!"

Diarwen smelled burned skin and made the young engineer show her hand. The ring had left a violently red stripe around her finger, starting to blister in spots. "I do not understand this; no human should be subject to iron burns in the first place. And this transparent metal should have protected you even if that were the problem."

Kaela said, "It's a thermal burn, not whatever reaction to iron that you have. It must be the transsteel itself." She blew on the burn to cool it.

"Evanon, you say that you have some familiarity with healing charms. What would you do for this?"

"If the blisters grow no larger? Probably nothing, it is of little consequence."

Kaela laughed. "I probably wouldn't do anything with it either."

"Let us pretend that you would, then," Diarwen smiled. "I wish to see how advanced you are with healing spells. Pretend that it is a bit worse, possibly that the blisters have torn open."

"In that case, I would wash it with aloe, preferably, or whatever other herbs I might have available that lessen the chance of infection, or failing that, plain water would be better than nothing."

"Since this is, in fact, a closed injury, we shall assume that you have done that already."

"Lady Mikaela, if I may...?"

She grinned at the title, but let Evanon work. Almost immediately the pain stopped and the redness lessened.

Chip examined her ring. "It's still warm, Kaela. What did you do?"

"I don't know, obviously something I wasn't supposed to. Diarwen?"

"I do not know either, unless you accidentally channeled energy into the ring? Optimus, what of this material?"

"It was very common on Cybertron. The windows of my alt form are made of it. I know of no special magical properties; but then, I would not have been taught that."

Chip and Mikaela grinned at each other. Once they got back to the lab, they were going to find out…that was a very short trip to Geekland, which both defined as "not quite heaven, but I can't tell the difference."

Evanon carefully took the ring, half-expecting it to burn him, but it had cooled. "An interesting ring. I have not seen one made of iron before."

Kaela explained, "It's an engineer's ring. I received it when I took the Obligation of the Engineer. It's worn on that finger to remind me of the pledge I took."

Diarwen said, "That sounds like an initiation. Rather like my own, in any case."

Mikaela put the ring back on—though working magic was now numbered among the potentially hazardous situations which would cause her to temporarily remove it. "How's that?"

"Becoming a Knight is a serious commitment, one which requires years of training and preparation. I, too, made a pledge to live by a code of honor: to be loyal to my queen, to obey her commands and to defend her to the death, to protect and care for those in need, to deal honestly with others, to practice good works of charity and kindness, and to teach the ways of battle and of magic only to those I deem capable of living by the code."

Chip recited quietly, "'I do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.'"

Jack said, "The Hippocratic oath that nurses and doctors take goes back for generations, and there are several similar versions. Mine was, 'I do solemnly swear, by That which I hold most sacred:

'That I will be loyal to the physicians under whom I serve, as a good soldier is loyal to his officers.

'That I will be just and generous to all worthy members of my profession, aiding them when it will be in my power to do so.

'That I will live my life and lead my profession in uprightness and honor.

'That into whatsoever house I shall enter, it shall be for the good of the sick to the utmost of my power, and that I will hold myself aloof from all temptation.

'That whatsoever I shall see or hear of the lives of men and women, whether they be my patients or members of their households, I will keep inviolably secret, whether I am in other households, or among my own friends.'"

Evanon said, "So, is every profession like a priesthood?"

Diarwen replied, "I believe that every life well-lived is a priesthood. We honor the gods and our ancestors by answering our personal call to service to others, and by living with honor. That entails never giving less than your best to what you choose to engage in."

"Makes sense," Chip said.

Diarwen nodded. "In addition to my vows as a knight, I am also a third-degree high priestess of my goddess—and had I been longer among my people, I would have eventually taken an oath as a bard as well."

Optimus nodded. "It was so for me as well. Primes are sparked, not made, but not all so chosen by Primus have gone on to become Primes. I was taken into the Palace when I became a youngling, and spent nearly one thousand earth years preparing for my elevation. During that time, I took vows as an acolyte, and had the war not intervened, I would eventually have become a priest."

Jazz asked, "Were all Primes priests?"

"Before me? Yes. Sometimes I forget precisely how much of our heritage your generation never had the chance to learn—and neither of you is more than a decaorn younger than I am."

Jazz nodded. "You're the closest thing to a priest Ah ever saw since my Acceptance, Optimus."

"The same is true of myself, Prime," Prowl agreed. "Unless Master Yoketron took religious vows at some point in his life—he never said anything about it, but it would not surprise me to learn that he had done so."

"Nor me," Optimus said. "To answer your question, every Prime before me, except for Prima, was first a priest then a warrior. The defense of Cybertron, and of the Council, was meant to be the function of the Lords Protector. Those mecha constituted, in all the ways that I can see from the outside looking in, an order of knighthood. Our duty, on the other hand, was to lead the people by discerning and carrying out the will of Primus."

During this conversation, Diarwen had been going over his healing spell with Evanon, showing him how to direct the energy a little more efficiently. Once she was sure he understood the exercise she wanted him to practice, she turned to Optimus. "A daunting task indeed, to rebuild your heritage and adapt it to this new world."

"I do not know that it can be adapted."

"Then, something new will be provided in its place. Everything She touches, changes. But after every winter, there is always a new summer. That is why we celebrate Yule every year," Diarwen said gently. "And in no year has summer failed to come."

As the sunlight began to inch its way onto the flat expanse of sand where they liked to spar, Prowl and Jazz squared off, bowed to Optimus and Diarwen, then to each other. Jazz had Prowl at a slight disadvantage, having inhabited his frame for several weeks prior to their resurrection. Prowl was learning a new frame which differed in many ways from his pre-reformat root mode. His alt mode differed as well; he was still a cycleformer but he had chosen a large-model Harley-Davidson to replace his Cybertronian alt form. It was much larger than the Ducatis that the Sisters preferred, necessary because his root mode was more massive than theirs.

In root mode, he was on the indistinct borderline that separated minibots from their larger brothers and sisters, which made him a good bit taller than Jazz and almost twice the size of the sisters.

Prowl proved that he was quickly re-learning to make use of that advantage. The bonded pair were both having the time of their lives.

Optimus watched them for a while, reassured. The war had taken much from the two of them, just as it had from everyone else. But Jazz and Prowl, at least, were quickly reclaiming the most important things that they had lost.

Kaela asked, "OK, we're still in the desert. A cold night is usually survivable if you keep your head, even if it is miserable. But the real dangers out here, for organics anyway, are heat and dehydration. What can we do about that?"

"In that case, the element that you will need to call upon is water. Optimus, you will recall that I taught you to channel the energy of water when you were first learning to control mana."

"Yes. I chilled the area immediately around me without even realizing that I had done so."

Diarwen smiled at him, the special smile she did not yet realize that she kept for him alone, and turned to the others. "Understand that even in a dry area such as this, there is still water. You can draw upon its properties to help cool yourself, and if you have a container, you can condense enough water vapor from the air to keep yourself alive. Be aware of your surroundings, and observe nature. During the heat of the day in summer, you must take heed of the strategies used by the creatures who live here. Magic is at its best when used in conjunction with the mundane, and in harmony with the forces of nature around you. So were you to be stranded in the desert, you would find shade, and limit your travel and other activities to cooler parts of the day. On the other hand, though limiting your activity is a good thing, I will not need to tell you mecha that high noon is the best time to find a sunny spot to nap and recharge."

Optimus nodded. "Indeed—but for most of us, not all. If most of the sunlight falling on us is being used by our solar collectors to generate energon and electricity, then less is wasted as heat and needs to be dealt with by our cooling systems. In this, the smaller the bot, the more closely they need to follow the same rules as organics."

Jazz said, "Prime's right, the smaller we are the quicker our internals overheat, even if our solar collectors are running flat out. A big bot like Prime can sit out there all day and keep his batteries topped off. Ah'd be chancin' processor damage—th' equivalent of a heat stroke—if I tried that without usin' a lot of that to run mah cooling system. Ah could stay alive that way but Ah wouldn't come out ahead, wouldn't get a full charge on mah batteries and more energon in mah tank than Ah started with."

Throughout this long conversation, he didn't take his optics off Prowl, and the two exchanged a few strikes and parries as they circled each other.

Diarwen bowed her head. "I have learned. The next warm afternoon, then, we will all study this. If you can keep yourself cool by magical means, then you will be able to take better advantage of the sun's energy without endangering yourself. In any case, I have found that the ability to condense a small amount of water out of nowhere is often useful," she smiled.

Evanon tried and failed to control a snicker. So did Jazz, which got him "the look" from Prowl.

A small amount of water could be useful—but it could also be very annoying. Which was occasionally a very helpful property.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Diarwen sat outside that evening enjoying the blissfully cool weather as she worked on her translation. She was not sure that she was choosing the right English words, or that English—or even Sidhe—words even existed to express some of the concepts. There were some things that seemed to naturally derive from existing in the universe as a mechanical being that did not have direct parallels for an organic. Although they walked many if not most of the same paths in life, they did not experience it in exactly the same way. But, she reflected, no two individuals did that.

She still wasn't sure how much of the difference was cultural and how much, biological.

Either way, she was eager to study the cultural background which had shaped Optimus and his people.

Chromia rolled to a graceful stop beside her and unsubspaced a data pad. "Doing your homework, I see."

"I am. Can you explain these two glyphs to me? They both mean 'love' but what is the difference between them?"

"One goes with the singular 'you' and the other, with the dual. Remember there are separate glyphs for 'you' depending on whether you are speaking to one listener, two, or more than two. This form of the glyph is also possessive, see this mark here."

"So, it would say not so much 'I love you,' but rather, 'you are my beloved.'"

"Precisely. This form of the glyph is used with family. Not always romantic love, it can just as easily refer to other relationships within a close cohort—those people who are 'yours.' You need to see the rest of the glyphs in the statement to get the full context. But when Ironhide and I transmit this glyph to one another—I think I would translate it 'In our love, I am one with you.'" She erased the dual indicator, then made three more marks. "And this? This is future tense, this is the indicator for universality, and this is the plural. What have I written now?"

Diarwen looked at it, and suddenly the light dawned. "_Oh!_ 'Till all are one.'"

"Exactly."

Diarwen smiled up at her nine-foot-tall friend. "I am trying to come to a full appreciation of the precision of your language, but whenever I think I have done so—something so beautiful and so full of meaning as this presents itself."

"I'm afraid you'll have succeeded at that a long time before I understand the complex variations of meaning within organic languages. I get confused because so many of your words have multiple definitions."

"Do not feel alone. Native speakers of a language can be confused by that as well."

Chromia nodded. Organics were inherently contradictory; it only made sense that their languages should be contradictory as well! "I brought you something; I thought you might get a kick out of it. That pad contains some light reading that my sisters and I used to like back home. It isn't fine literature like you've been translating, but it's pretty accurate when it comes to the day-to-day life of ordinary citizens just before the Fall. Also, you'll get a better idea of which glyphs are used more often in ordinary spoken language."

"Thank you, Chromia! The poetry that Optimus gave me is beautiful, but it would be rather like trying to learn modern conversational English by reading Chaucer and Shakespeare."

"Exactly. Cybertronian doesn't change as quickly—Chaucer only lived, what, a decavorn ago, and Shakespeare a half-decavorn—but the glyphs in common use at the height of the Golden Age by the nobles aren't necessarily the same ones that ordinary bots use today. Sometimes Mirage transmits like that, but even he has developed a much more conversational style over the vorn. Optimus is really the only one who speaks that formally all the time, but then he was sparked into the clerical class, and spent his youth in the palace. I—honestly, I think he's the last one still alive who lived there."

"I am...so sorry, Chromia. It does not seem..." Diarwen shook her head, at a loss for words. Her people had moved on without her, but she knew where they were. The Cybertronians' world and most of their people were dead. There was no comparison.

Chromia nodded. "It is what it is," she said quietly. "I'll never understand why one person, even one fallen Prime, was allowed to set things in motion that eventually led to so much misery. But eventually I came to the point where I figured out that I never _will_ understand it. I'm still here, my family is still here, and I have them to live for. I have to admit, it makes me furious when I see the humans making the same mistakes we did."

"I do not understand."

"Diarwen, the universe provided everything Cybertron needed. Instead of harvesting stars so that we could continue to build more and more and consume more and more, we should have scaled back. We should have kept our growth within what we could sustain. If we had done that, we could have built energon collection stations around those same stars, and they would have provided all that we needed for millions of years and then when they failed, we could have moved on to younger systems. We could have redesigned ourselves and our non-sentient machines to be more efficient. And we could have made sure energon was distributed more fairly so that everyone had what they needed. We could have built colonies on uninhabited planets that get enough sunlight.

"Humans are doing the same thing here, and there are billions of them. Stars capable of producing energon for us are a lot more common than planets capable of supporting organic life! There is not going to be anywhere for the humans to go if they deplete this world as we depleted Cybertron. And if they do survive long enough to become spacefarers without changing their attitudes, when they do start colonizing other worlds, they'll deplete them just as rapidly."

Diarwen said, "That is one of the justifications that the Unseelie use for enslaving what they term lesser races. They claim that it is more merciful to let them live as slaves than to allow them to breed themselves into extinction. But humans make poor slaves. One day they are going to rise up, and the Unseelie Court will face a reckoning in fire and blood beyond anything they have ever imagined."

Chromia nodded. "That's what Megatron and Sentinel could never understand. Freedom isn't something you can give or take away, it's a choice that sentient beings eventually make. _We_ did. There were a _lot_ of Quintessons, but by the time they surrendered, they left Cybertron in a handful of ships. What the Unseelie are saying only makes sense until you realize that slaves need only one successful rebellion to end the old system. Building a new system to take its place is something else, but that isn't the point. Slaveholders have to be successful every single time, from now on. No one can do that. Eventually, any system built on repression is going to fall apart. But, at the same time, that means we can't make people save themselves if they're determined not to."

"Not all of them. Maybe they will realize what they have to do before it is too late."

The cycleformer nodded. "Hope is all we can do, isn't it?"

"Yes. But hoping is a powerful thing," Diarwen said.

"So it is." Chromia's optics flickered with humor. "I'm on my way to my shift, Diarwen, but I've got to check on the Chevy Twins first. I brought them some energon, since they're still grounded. Letting the little slaggers get sick isn't going to help Sunstreaker. Back in a few."

Diarwen grinned, and turned off the datapad with the poetry and powered up the one Chromia had just given her. When Chromia returned, she looked up to ask, "How is Sunstreaker doing?"

"He's better, but shorting out microcircuitry is one of the most annoying injuries in existence. It isn't crippling, just painful enough to interfere with everything you do, and you can't recharge without a pain chip. Jolt was able to clean all the glitter out so Sunny didn't _keep_ short-circuiting, but damage like that has to self-repair. We don't have the facilities here to fix it any sooner."

Diarwen winced in sympathy. "Either Optimus or Evanon should be able to help him with that."

"Optimus offered. Sunny isn't too sure about magic."

"I have known many warriors who were unsure about magic. If they were hurting badly enough, they tended to change their opinion."

"I suppose you're right about that." Chromia heaved a sigh, and shook her helm. "Sparklings, Diarwen. I'm surrounded by sparklings in adult upgrades."

Diarwen laughed, and watched her friend disappear into the building, then turned to the first story on the pad.

As Chromia had said, the Cybertronian was a modern, conversational style—glyphs that matched words she had slowly been learning by immersion. That gave glyphs that were new to her a context, so that she was more easily able to translate them without referring to the lexicon as often.

She became so caught up in the story of an apprentice healer named Makewell and his day to day life that at first it eluded her that the story was a romance novel—until the hero's enforcer love interest, SafeKeeper, appeared in the second chapter and the prose describing him turned a bit purple.

The story was a romance novel about a medical student and a police officer.

Who knew?

Eventually, Mikaela yelled at her to put the book down and come to supper. Laughing, she obeyed.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

The next morning, Prowl rolled to a stop and transformed at the entrance to the proving ground. "You wished to speak to me, Ironhide?"

"Yeah, but that didn't mean you had to come all the way out here," the weapons specialist replied. "Prowl, have you thought about what you want to do now?"

"In what sense?"

"I mean, do you want your old job back?"

"I would not wish to displace you," Prowl said.

"When I stepped up, it was because I had to, not because I'm what anybot would call an administrator. And I didn't have a young fosterling then. Prowl, it's up to you; I don't want to dump being 2iC on you if you're not ready yet. Take all the time you need to get situated, but if you want it back it's yours."

"I assume that you have discussed this with Prime?"

"Asked him about more time for Evanon, but he knows me too well, he knows I don't belong behind a desk. He said the same thing, it's up to you."

Prowl said, "I suspect that the data pads are the root of at least 92% of your dissatisfaction with the job. I could take the administrative duties off your hands, certainly. I have asked Ratchet when I will be ready to return to full duty, but he has not as yet given me a time frame. I doubt he would be overly concerned about office work, however, and I have had enough of idleness to last me for some time."

"He's still worried about that glitch episode you had when you first woke up?"

"I believe that to be the issue, yes."

"Well, he'd know better than I would," Ironhide said. "Maybe we oughta take this slow. Take over admin for second joor. We'll see how that goes. I'll be around. If you feel like you need time to clear your processor, then call me in."

"That sounds like an acceptable course of action, given Ratchet's orders not to overdo it."

"We can go over it this afternoon and decide how we're going to schedule shifts if he approves," Ironhide said.

"You have been using your quarters as an office, is that correct?"

"Yeah, can't leave classified stuff lyin' out in admin because there are humans from their military in there that we can't always trust. Chromia won't care if you're in and out of the apartment, you know that. I got a lockbox in there. Let me give you the codes."

That was quickly accomplished, and Prowl asked, "Why are there untrustworthy humans in admin?"

"Because they're lettin' us stay here rent-free," Ironhide said. "It ain't ideal, but it could be a whole lot worse. They might snoop if they got the chance, but that's as far as they've gone. Fact is, they went out of their way to protect the sparklings. The ones on this base, they're brothers."

"But their commanders are responsible for far more than a handful of refugees, and they have severe problems that our technology could help them solve. In their position, if I could gain access while doing no harm, I would do the same thing," Prowl said. "What of Charlotte Mearing?"

"She's good people. You'll probably get along with her. She came up through their Central Intelligence Agency, that's their version of Operations. She's their Meister—or, at least, one of 'em. I don't know how many they got total."

"Ah."

"Sayin' she's good people is not sayin' she's easy to get along with."

"I believe that I understand that. I think that I shall go back to base and look over those data pads, and at least get a start on prioritizing them. I must admit that if there is any situation in life other than combat which causes me to give thanks for my tactical subprocessor, it is dealing with what Jazz calls administrivia."

Ironhide grinned at the term, but said, "Don't work too hard and land in medbay. I don't want the Hatchet thinkin' I put you up to it and weldin' my aft to the ceiling."

Prowl heard humor, did not crash, and actually grinned, which almost crashed Hide. "With both Jazz and Ratchet monitoring me, I estimate the chance of that happening as less than five percent."

Ironhide grinned back, and saw fit to omit that Prowl could add Chromia to that list.

Prowl wished Ironhide a good joor, then took his alt form and cruised back to base. Along the way, he saw the tractor gestalt on their way to the work site where the new living quarters were taking shape.

They were cutting cookies on, and quite often off, the asphalt. It was all Prowl could do not to shout at them. But a) they were doing no harm, and b) they weren't either set of twins.

And it would be good to have true Cybertronian-style apartments to live in rather than bivouacking in the hangars.

He pinged for entrance to Ironhide and Chromia's quarters, and the door was opened by their young ward, who was apparently on his way out for his morning run. Jazz, he noted, had not been exaggerating the boy's appetite.

Younglings, it seemed, had many similarities across species.

Chromia greeted him, "Good joor, Prowl! Welcome!"

"Thank you, Chromia, good joor to you as well. And to you, Evanon," he added. The boy nodded on the way out.

"Come in! Have you had energon yet?"

"Yes, thank you, Jazz and I had our ration this morning." He looked around their small apartment, whose layout was identical to the one that he and Jazz shared. But Chromia had made it a little more homey by softening the metal boxes which served as a couch and chairs with a covering of heavy carpet. A mural of a desert scene, undoubtedly Sunstreaker's work, decorated the wall over Ironhide's desk. The opposite corner of the room, sheltered by a sturdy table, had been dedicated to Evanon's use—a neatly covered berth that Prowl had recently learned the humans called a "bed," a desk and chair, and a large wooden box at the foot of the bed where he could keep his belongings.

"Does Evanon stay in that small area?"

Chromia smiled at him, her servos busy organizing objects on a countertop. "Oh, my, no, he sleeps there and does his school work at the desk, but he spends the evenings out in the commons with us. He spends as much of his free time running around outside as he can, though, he has too much energy to stay cooped up in here."

"I see. Chromia, I was going to help with some of the work from admin. Ironhide said he keeps those data pads in a lock box."

"Yes, it's right over here between his desk and the wall." She made a graceful gesture in that direction. " You're more than welcome to work here. I have to help with the littles in a few minutes, but feel free to ping me if you need anything."

"Thank you, Chromia."

"Welcome," she said, and gave him the smile that must, he thought, have won Ironhide's pump all those vorn ago. "It's good to have you back, Prowl."

Once the door closed behind her, Prowl got the data pads out of the lock box and began the slow process of working his way through the reports. He worked methodically, making sure that nothing in any file created a logical impossibility that might cause him to lock up before moving on to the next.

Nothing prepared him for finding Ratchet's post-mortem on Jazz.

He sequestered the memory of reading the file. He did not need those details in his processor, to blindside him the next time he had a recharge flux.

He and Jazz had known full well that they were both sacrificing themselves to stop Trypticon at the Battle of Iacon. As a result of Prowl's own death, Jazz should have simply, quietly, passed in his recharge one night. Instead, the being Prowl never named, simply thought of as "the warlord," had ripped him in half. That was what Jazz had never been willing to tell him when they had been reunited in the Well. Now, he understood why.

Prowl hoped that mech burned in the Pit.

Prowl put the datapads away for the day; he was in no fit state to work with them any more. He stacked them neatly back into the lock box and secured it.

Then he went to Jazz' den and with one precise glyph, deliberately locked the door behind him. He needed very badly to convince himself that Jazz was here with him, perfectly fine, not lying under a tarp in two cold gray pieces on one of Ratchet's tables.

Jazz felt his turmoil as soon as their fields brushed each other. He didn't ask—he never had, that could wait until the danger of a glitch was past. He offered his fields, and his strong embrace. "What do you need, Prowler?"

"You. Always, you."

"'M here, mech. 'M right here."

And that was, in fact, all he needed.

End Part 2


	3. Chapter 3

(Disclaimers in Part 1)

Burnout approached Ironhide once Prowl had left. "Weaponsmaster, if you have a moment...?"

"Sure, mech, what is it?"

"It's about my flame-throwers. I'd like to know if it's possible to exchange them for something else."

"Should be. Why do you want to do that?"

"Well, they're a gladiator's weapon. I was ordered to get them so I did. But, if I'm going to be a priest, I don't need them any more."

Ironhide nodded. "Didn't exactly know too many priests personally, but I'd see them at the proving grounds now and then. Most of them tended to use null-rays, didn't they?"

"Yes, or magnetics."

"You gotta try pretty hard to deactivate somebot with either one of those, but you can sure stop them from being a threat in a big hurry."

"Well, that's the thing about my flame throwers. They'd terrify a mech, or make him mad enough to swing wild, but I never off-lined anybot I didn't have to. Thing is, around here, the human soldiers get right up behind me for cover, but I'm always afraid the wind will blow ignited energon back on them, or I'll set a bigger fire than I meant to."

"Let me see your weapons mounts."

Burnout transformed his right arm slowly so that Ironhide could get a good look at the sequence.

Ironhide gave it a critical stare. "Hmm. Null rays would be the easiest conversion, but you're still gonna have to get Ratchet to do some modifications before I can install them. This ain't just a simple swap. You'll have to mod your transformation sequence, and you'll need a whole new set of targeting and weapons control subroutines. Besides that, it'll take me a little while to build you a set of null rays. No one else here uses 'em. I think we can have you set up in a couple of orn. Now, if you'd rather go with magnetics, you'll have to talk to Wheeljack and Jolt about it. As a matter of fact, go ahead and talk to them before you decide what you want to do. Until I met Jolt, I didn't get a lotta experience with magnetics as a main weapon. He might have some other ideas, too, if your objective is non-lethal self-defense."

"Thank you, Weaponsmaster."

"No problem."

"There is another thing. I was very familiar with the Great Temples in Simfur and Iacon. But what can you tell me about the smaller ones?"

Ironhide cocked his big head down at the smaller Burnout. "Wouldn't you know more about that than I would?"

"What I'm interested in is how ordinary people used to worship. Most mecha never went to one of the Great Temples, except for the rituals such as Sparking and Acceptance and Passing. Prime thinks that we should have a place of worship. We can never have what we did on Cybertron, but a community temple? We could do that. I think it might help people."

"I think you and Prime are right about that, mech. Yeah, I've been to both, and there wasn't that much difference. Instead of a big choir procession, in the smaller temples everyone would sing a hymn, then the priest would pray and recite from the Covenant of Primus, then preach a sermon, and then there would be more singing. Now, at the Great Temples that's when everyone went home. But at the community temples, usually everyone would bring their energon with them and after worship, we all would sit around together and catch up on what was going on with the different cohorts. The elders would tell stories for the sparklings, and the younglings would hang out together. Anyone who needed advice or wanted prayed for would ask the priest. It was a neighborhood thing. We didn't go every orn. Chromia's more religious than I am. She used to take Optimus and her sisters when they were sparklings. I'd go on the important holidays, but I worked a lot. So she might have more information for you than I got."

"I understand," Burnout said. "Thank you, Weaponsmaster."

"Any time. A temple is one thing we need to be a community instead of just a bunch of refugees. Talk to Prime. He can probably tell you more about our temple back home, since he's had temple training too."

"Thank you, I'll do that. Good joor, sir."

"Good joor." Ironhide shook his helm as he watched the former con transform and turn back towards the base.

These orn, former 'Cons were getting religion, raising sparklings, and building temples. What next?

-Sidhe Chronicles-

That evening, Burnout wandered around the area of the building site. The temple should be close to where mecha would be living. It would have to be big enough for everyone to relax. That meant an area the size of the commons, at least. It needed to be large enough for those now present, and sized to accommodate any other refugees who might come later.

He stopped under a huge overhang and looked westward, out over the desert to the horizon, where the sun was beginning to drop behind Buzzard Rock. A mix of corals and turquoise washed across the darkening sky. In the distance, a coyote howled.

And then, he understood. They wouldn't need to build their temple. It was already here, and he was standing in it.

Primus had guided them to a world where one of His stars would provide all the energon they might need for generations, and its light painted the vibrant sky in uncounted frequencies of colors as beautiful as the spectra cast by the crystals in the meditation garden of Simfur.

They did not need to build magnificent temple walls when what the humans called Mother Earth offered her new guests all the stark grandeur of the desert canyons.

This place would be a reminder of the waste and excess that had torn Cybertron from them. It was also a promise that, if they avoided the greed of their ancestors, the universe offered what they truly needed. It was a fitting place to honor both the god of their ancestors and the goddess who had given them refuge in their time of desperation.

Burnout raised his face and servos to the sun. "O Primus, mighty First One, You have brought us through war and shown us a new home. I give thanks. I'm not worthy to be Your priest. I turned away from Your service because I was afraid. I have the energon of Your creations on my servos. What can I do to make amends for that? But, if You'll continue to guide me as You have this joor, I'll do my best to do Your work for the rest of my life."

He realized, walking back to his home, that there had been two Acceptances in his life.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

As the sunset started to color the western sky, Evanon told Jason, "I need to be getting back before Ironhide and Chromia begin to worry and come looking for me."

His Sidhe companion tested his weight on his ankle, injured during his escape from the Unseelie a few weeks ago. "You know, you'll learn English better if you speak it more," he advised—in English. "And I'm afraid if I keep using Sidhe, I'll forget English."

"That might be possible. I know that returned changelings are not allowed to use the languages that they learned among humans. And I freely admit that I need the practice."

"My ankle doesn't hurt as much. I think I should start walking around on it more."

"If it starts to hurt, then rest it again. It takes a while to get your strength back. And you must be careful that you are not seen. When I am known to be climbing around up here, if someone below should see one of us, they would assume that I was the one they saw. But if I am at home and someone is seen up here, it would be investigated immediately."

"I'll be careful to stay down in the rocks. But I think I'll be ready to try to get to a phone soon."

"That will not be easy. Morithel will not have given up. Once we leave the base, the hunt will be on again."

"Evanon, you don't need to come with me."

"Yes, I do. We share a set of parents, and that makes you my brother. You know this world. I know Morithel. Perhaps together, we have a chance to make this work. You will never evade her alone."

"How much of a chance do the two of us together have?"

The human boy shook his head. "Morithel has been the Queen's champion for thousands of years. How much chance do you _think_ we have? But if you try to stay here, you will be captured eventually. We need to think of something to change the odds in our favor."

"What about sneaking out inside a vehicle?"

"Possibly, if one leaves unescorted, but more often than not an Autobot goes with any ordinary vehicles. We would be very likely to be detected. They can sense electrical energy just as you can detect auras, and we do not know how to conceal ourselves."

Jason said, "We'll think of something."

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Dr. Lou Anna Boggs, Ph.D. in Psychology, Major, US Army, retired, thanks for asking, sat across a table in the commons from Evanon the next morning. Their first therapy session had not gone well. Evanon was poised, collected, impeccably polite—and absolutely silent about his background before coming to Mission City. He had explained that he had been told it was all classified, that he had given his word not to discuss it, and therefore, could not do so. She had suggested that he bring one of his guardians with him to this meeting.

And hadn't that created Issues. Everything said in therapy was confidential, no matter how trivial. Privacy was necessary. However, her office was too small to accommodate any mecha larger than Jazz. Eventually, she had asked Wheeljack for ideas, and the inventor had come up with a solution. One corner of the commons was now cordoned off with caution tape and blanketed by a white noise generator. Anyone on one side of that caution tape heard only a soft sound like a fan running crossed with the static of a radio between stations. A bot could focus their hearing past it, but Wheeljack had threatened anyone caught doing so with Ratchet's tender mercies—something along the lines of welding earmuffs over their audials. A few moveable partitions gave them some privacy from onlookers, and Ironhide himself made a much better wall than a window.

So for the first time ever in her career, Lou Anna Boggs had a two-story-tall, millennia-old warrior in session with a human patient, someone who towered over herself and Evanon even when perched on a Cybertronian-sized bench.

She sat facing them. The boy, his hands clasped primly on the table between them, was very still. Boggs would come to know that Ironhide never moved unless he had to, and then his movements were both swift and precise. So she could be forgiven for the thought that she was the live person here, and they were two mannikins.

"Ironhide. I'm glad that you could join us. We ran into a snag our last session due to security issues. Evanon didn't feel comfortable discussing anything that might be classified with me, without being sure of my security clearance. I found that very reasonable, but obviously we can't accomplish much that way. I hoped it would facilitate things if you were here, because you understand my clearance level and can stop us if we start to stray. May I send you my clearance file by using my NEST phone to email it to the number that Prowl gave me?"

"Yes. Evanon, you understand that I'll vet this file to make sure it comes from the right place, and has all the stuff in place it should? I can tell if it's been faked."

"Yes, Ironhide. I understand that you have your own magic."

Boggs smiled, and hit send. "My credentials, sir."

Ironhide needed only a very short moment to look over the file. "It's OK, Evanon. She's got clearance, you can read her in. Would you rather talk to her in private, or do you want me to hang around?"

"Could you stay this time? My English is better, but still not...sometimes I do not know the right words."

"'Course I can, if that's OK with you, Healer Boggs?"

"That's fine, Ironhide. In fact, I appreciate it."

The boy fidgeted before saying, "Thank you for understanding, Healer. I meant no insult."

"I know that. I'm an Army veteran, so I understand all about classified information. You did the right thing. But now that's out of the way, Evanon, tell me about yourself."

"Well, I was born here, somewhere on the East Coast rather, but I was kidnapped when I was a baby and exchanged for a child of the Unseelie Court. Do you know anything of that?"

"Background, yes, Lady Diarwen was kind enough to brief me on the Sidhe kingdoms and why you were taken. I understand that you were owned by her counterpart, a Lady Morithel?"

"Owned, yes, that is the custom, and among the Sidhe, custom has the force of law. I was no common slave. I was the lady's footman, and her student. She treated me honorably, and made sure that I was educated. When the time came for my changeling to return, she freed me and gave me arms and armor, and a just payment for my captivity. If I were to return to the Underhill now, it would be as Lady Morithel's liege-man, not as a slave. I know what the term 'slaveholder' means here. If it is applied to my lady, I am obligated to take that as an insult to her, and thus to me."

"So noted. What can you tell me about your upbringing there? What was your day-to-day life like?"

"I was first fostered to a human family, but when my foster mother was executed for treason, Lady Morithel had compassion on me and took me into her household rather than see me fostered to another slave family."

Boggs did nothing to stop the flow of the boy's reminiscence, but she made a mental note to explore this particular issue much later.

"When I was newly arrived in my lady's house, I did lessons and played with the other children of the household; ordinary things, I suppose. When I was seven, I began to learn the ribbon dance, which is taught before the sword dance, and a few small charms. Lady Morithel took me to court with her, because I had found favor with the Queen. The lady taught me how to please Her Majesty, with my singing, mostly, and I sparred with the children of the noble houses who came to my lady's hall for weapons training. My lady's good advice spared me making enemies among the highborn, and that was no small thing. When my voice broke and Her Majesty no longer preferred to hear me sing, I began to serve as my lady's messenger. So it was, until the Queen ordered my return."

"And if the Queen had allowed it, you would have preferred to stay?"

"Of course, but the magic required my return. You must understand, changelings are hostages for one another. My good treatment warded my changeling, just as his did me. In order to fulfill the magical contract, I had to be returned unharmed."

"I see," Boggs said, but in many ways she knew that she didn't. "Dr. Parker tells me that you're in excellent health, and it seems that you're catching up on your schoolwork very quickly. You're at grade level in math. Your English is coming along very well, both spoken and written—you'll have enough vocabulary to begin adding other subjects very soon. What studies did you enjoy when you lived in the Underhill?"

"Music, poetry, history—all of those are important to a minstrel. I thought that was what I would be, until my voice displeased Her Majesty."

"We have all of those things here. Maybe you'll like our version. For one thing, history is a required subject."

"Yes, Healer. What other things must I learn?"

"You'll continue math classes, and begin to learn science. You'll keep studying English, including literature and writing courses once you don't need English as a second language any more. You'll also learn the geography of Earth, where things are and how far apart they lie from one another. In social studies, which is related to history and geography, you'll learn about different societies and how people live in them. You'll talk about current events. You'll have health classes—you'll learn how to eat right from the foods we have here and how to keep yourself from getting sick. There are certain state requirements for physical education, but you'll meet those easily, I think. Aside from that, we have what we call electives, which are classes that appeal to you, that you choose to study. You've indicated an interest in music, so I suggest that you start with that. Kids also do what we call extracurricular activities like sports, and martial arts and archery would come under that category, as well as meeting your PE requirements. You're doing very well. You work hard and turn your assignments in on time, so as long as you keep that up, you'll be fine academically."

"Thank you, Healer."

"Evanon, how is the search for your birth family going?"

"We are looking...Hide, would you explain this, please?"

"Sure." Boggs found herself under scrutiny from a pair of arctic-blue eyes located ten feet above her. "Look, the problem here is, Evanon wasn't reported missing when he disappeared, because he was swapped for the other kid. We think that happened in the hospital nursery. We know the other kid disappeared when we found Evanon, but no police report of the kidnapping was filed. We don't know why there wasn't a police report, but there isn't, not for the time Evanon appeared. DNA evidence came up empty, so he's not related to anybody in the databases that we have access to. What's left is birth records, but there were a lot of boys born in a lot of hospitals all up and down the east coast fourteen years ago. We're tracking them down, but it's taking time."

"I understand. How do you feel about that, Evanon?"

"I am curious, but I feel no true connection to my—my birth parents. I would like to know them, but I have no desire to leave this place. I am afraid that when they are found, it will be my duty to go to them and remain until I am of age, but we will have nothing in common, and I will not fit into the society there. I do not think I will be happy there. I hope that I will be allowed to remain in contact with those I have come to care for here."

Lou Anna thought that he was holding something back, something important, but Ironhide spoke up before she could say anything about it.

The old warrior said gruffly, "Four years ain't that long, Evanon."

"It is, when there are still Decepticons at large."

"Listen to me: the war's over, this is just mopping up stragglers. You're gonna have a home here."

"I hope that you are right," Evanon said, in a voice filled with the bleak wisdom of one who knows the games fate plays with such promises. He dropped his head over the hands clasped so neatly in front of him, breaking eye contact.

Lou Anna said, "Evanon, you're old enough to have some say in what happens to you in a custody case. If it comes to relocating you, I believe it would be in your interest to have visitation rights with your foster family here, since it would be detrimental to completely uproot you again. Maybe there could be some kind of shared custody arrangement. You'd need an attorney to represent your interests, though. You're a party to this, as much as your parents are, and even if you are underage, you still have rights that a lawyer could help you defend. In the United States, no one is property."

The boy frowned. "That is…different. The word of the heads of the family is not law here? There are other laws? I do not know what rights I have. I understand that I am quite wealthy now. What if that is their only interest in me? They do not even know me. They have raised another boy as their son for all these years."

"I'm not a lawyer, so I can't give you specifics, and a lot of it will depend on what state your parents live in. But custody cases should be decided in the best interests of the young person involved. As far as your rights go, in general, parents are allowed to discipline their children, but at the same time, if they punish you too harshly, they commit assault and battery. If they do anything that comes under the definition of child abuse, physical, emotional, or financial, that's against the law, and they can be prosecuted and jailed for committing a crime. As for your money, it belongs to you. They can only use it to buy things that you need, and they have to prove that that's what they did. The court can appoint a financial guardian for you. You aren't someone's belonging anymore. You are a person under the law, a free citizen of the United States, entitled to the same protection as everyone else. Don't ever let anyone make you feel obligated to allow them to harm you or make you do anything that feels uncomfortable, whether it's your parents or anyone else. You have the right to say no, to yell for help, to call the police. It's very important that you understand that."

"Yes, I had not been here long at all before Ironhide and Colonel Lennox explained that to me. Rest assured, I had no intention in the first place of allowing anyone to mistreat me or to take...liberties. The Lady Morithel made sure I was able to defend myself very early on—and she made sure it was known that she personally would take any such attempt on me as an insult to her own honor, since I was under her protection."

Ironhide growled, "That goes double for me."

"Good. Thank you, Ironhide. Evanon, I'm glad that you understand that. There aren't predators behind every tree like some people seem to think, but there are some nasty folks out there. I'm glad you're aware of the problem and able to take care of yourself. I've heard you discuss honor several times. Were you raised to live by a code of honor? Can you tell me anything about it?"

She saw the boy's hands relax once they were off personal ground. "Well, yes. It is very rare for Queen Medb to grant knighthood to anyone not of the Unseelie Court, but the code her knights live by is still considered a worthy goal for all who live in Underhill. Our first duty is to the Queen, our second to our household. We are to be brave, loyal, and obedient. A slave who has honor is a better person than a noble who has none, and will be reborn to a higher station in the next life. Those who have honor have no need of laws."

"Taking slaves is thought to be a dishonorable act among humans, Evanon, and it is not legal to do so anywhere on Earth."

"That may be so, but even if I _had_ been treated dishonorably, would that be a reason for me to _act_ dishonorably?"

"No, it wouldn't," Lou Anna smiled, "and it reflects very well upon both you and the Lady Morithel that you think so." She saw the boy relax, which was her intended goal. "Here, we tend to feel that honor includes honesty, and defending those who can't defend themselves."

"In that, you agree with the Seelie Knights. I have spoken with the Lady Diarwen about the differences between the Seelie and the Unseelie codes of knighthood. There is much about the Seelie to be recommended. I crave pardon if it seems I was arguing with you, but you did ask me about the code with which I was raised."

"That's true, I did," Lou Anna smiled again. "Is there anything else you'd like to talk about? Or anything that you need?"

"No, thank you, Healer. I have been provided with everything that I need, or could want," Evanon replied.

Ironhide said, "If there was something, you'd ask me, or Chromia, or Dr. Boggs, or Diarwen, wouldn't you?"

"If there were anything at all that you could help me with, I know that I could ask you."

"OK, then," Ironhide said.

Boggs was sure the boy was keeping something back. He had said "that you _could_ help me with." She thought that was deliberate, that he was keeping something to himself because he didn't think anyone _could_ help him.

Pressing him now would be counterproductive. He didn't trust her yet, and therefore, Ironhide wouldn't either. Messing with Ironhide's fosterling would be stupid, and possibly lethal. She would have to wait until she earned Evanon's trust, and considering his background, that might take a while.

Of course she said none of this, only pausing in her note-taking to say, "Ironhide, ordinarily in a case like this, I'd want to start teaching Evanon life skills like walking around downtown, handling money, riding the bus or a bicycle. But do you think it would be safe for Evanon to go off base with me, while he learned these things?"

"Probably would be if I went with you." He didn't smile, but she could feel that the big mech was pleased. "I'll drive you into town and stick close 'til you're ready to come home. Let me know when you want to go, and I'll make sure I'm off duty that joor. As for ridin' a bicycle, the other kids ride 'em around here all the time. Evanon, do you want a bike? Gonna be a couple years before you're old enough to get a driver's license."

"I have never thought about a bicycle. Perhaps we could go to a shop and look at them when we go to town?"

Ironhide grinned. "That works."

Barricade brought his three over, and paused a proper distance away; Lou Anna nodded at the Tiny Trine's caretaker, then turned to Evanon. "Our time here is almost up, Evanon. I'll work on your class schedule and see what I can put together for you. I'll get back to you tomorrow afternoon, if that's all right?"

"I will be here, Healer. Good joor."

"And to you as well," she replied. As they left, she heard Ironhide tell Evanon, "See, that wasn't so bad, was it? They just want to help."

"Yes, Ironhide."

The boy didn't sound very convinced, to Boggs' ears. But they had time.

Barricade brought the littles over. They had talked earlier, and he had explained that the yellow sparkling, Starskimmer, was Starscream's hatchling and the rightful Winglord. He was concerned over how to break the news to Skimmer.

Boggs spent a pleasant hour playing with the sparklings while she did her best to evaluate them.

Afterwards, they turned the sparklings over to Diarwen, and Boggs discussed her conclusions with Barricade. "Developmentally, I would say that Skimmer is capable of understanding the concept. I would begin with the idea of trine leader and wingmates, because he and his brother and sister already have an innate understanding of that. Explain that the Winglord is the leader for all the trines, and that because his parent was the Winglord, he is now Winglord himself. Then explain to him that other seekers are supposed to know that if they show up. For now, I would leave it at that. If a challenger turns up, then I suspect that the appropriate programming would become active. I can't begin to guess how he'd respond to a challenger."

Barricade said, "I'm told there's a small avian on this planet called a bantam rooster."

"Ah." Lou Anna grinned. Barricade did not, which made her wonder if he lacked a sense of humor, or if his sparkling's resemblance to that creature was the interspecies equivalent of an in-joke.

In that she wronged Barricade. He simply didn't know her well enough to laugh with yet.

"Take a look at that. That kid with the...glitch? No, that isn't right. But he has some kind of a problem?"

"D'andre is autistic."

"What's the matter with him? Why can't you fix him?"

"Well, as I understand it, processor problems aren't always easy to repair, are they?"

The big warrior suddenly looked down at her with focus, and she knew she'd scored a point. "When you put it that way."

"Autism isn't a single issue. It's a catch-all for a really complex group of developmental disorders. D'andre is very young, so we aren't sure yet where he falls in that group."

"Yeah, but take a look at what he's doing. Whenever Skysong reads to Skimmer and Stormy, D'andre follows along. I don't think he speaks two words of English and the only way he communicates is by screaming. But he knows what the story's about. Watch him."

Boggs did so. Then she fumbled for her phone and dialed it with a shaking hand. "Mrs. Epps? It's Dr. Boggs. What are you doing right now?"

Mo Epps left her washing and ran back to the commons, arriving out of breath. "What's wrong? What's the matter with D'andre?"

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong. In fact, something might be right. Look over there. Have you seen D'andre taking an interest in Cybertronian storybooks before?"

"Yes. What's going on?"

"I can't be sure. D'andre's brain might not be configured to learn English. But once Barricade pointed it out…I think—_I think—_he might be following along with them. Barricade, is it possible for humans to learn Cybertronian?"

Barricade said, "Read the glyphs and understand it when you hear it, sure. Speak it, Pit no. Not more than a universal greeting."

Mo said, "Cade, you don't understand. He may be effectively mute, if he can't speak Cybertronian, but if he's really following the sparkling's stories, he's still learning _language. _ Those storybooks could be our—our—our _Rosetta stone_ to D'andre! I can learn too. If he can't understand my language, then I'll learn to understand his."

Barricade had to look up the Rosetta Stone, the civilization of ancient Egypt, Greek, and hieroglyphics to understand this. But then his face lit up, and his respect not only for Mo but for her mate skyrocketed. These organics. They were amazing.

Lou Anna was saying, "Wait, wait. There has to be a way. Barricade, is it possible to load a subset of Cybertronian on something like an iPad and have it translate?"

"Yeah, sure, you need to talk to Diarwen about that, she's learning to read Cybertronian and building a lexicon. It pronounces the glyphs for her. But the glyphs need to be in the right order to make any sense, and it isn't the same as English. You couldn't just type an English sentence and have it translate word for word. A datapad isn't a drone. It can't translate. The best thing would be, like Mo said, learn to read and write Cybertronian. Then it could pronounce whatever sentence you typed."

"Doctor, how do we find out if that's really what's going on?" Mo asked.

Boggs suggested, "Barricade." She tilted her head up to the tall warrior. "Would you ask D'andre to come over here to his mother, please?"

He translated that.

D'andre jumped up and ran over to Mo.

She realized she needed a reason for asking him to do that, and offered him a juice box, her hands shaking. He held up his hands for it, then went back over to the children's area and sat back down on the carpet with his blocks, sipping his juice as Skysong continued to read.

Mo grabbed Lou Anna in a bear hug that threatened to cut off her air. Barricade thought she might do the same thing to him and carefully sidled out of reach. He had learned to tolerate and respect organics, and some of them he liked a great deal, though he wasn't about to admit that. Touching them, however, still made him nervous. He wasn't sure he liked _that_, and anyway, they were very easy to damage.

In the end, Mo settled for patting his knee, very gently. "Now what? What do we do with this?" she asked, not Barricade but Boggs, and the ex-Decepticon thanked Primus for that.

Lou Anna said, "We have to find a way to test D'andre's vocabulary. And we know the set of glyphs that he might know—the ones in the books that Skysong's been reading to them."

"Why can he pick this up? What's different about this than learning his ABCs from watching Sesame Street? Cade, what are we doing wrong that we can't teach him English?"

"I don't think you're doing anything wrong. English is different from Cybertronian. All Earth languages are. They have too many different meanings for the same word. It doesn't make any kind of sense. I don't know how any of your sparklings learn it."

"Of course," Lou Anna said. "Cybertronian is _precise. _A single glyph never has more than one meaning. Mathematical. Right?"

Barricade said, "Yeah, of course, how else would it work? There are specific modifiers, but they change the root glyph in standard, predictable ways. There's no guesswork like with organic languages."

"High-functioning autistic children often excel at math at the same time they're having trouble with language. Barricade, English may be fuzzy and confusing but your people have learned to deal with it. Maybe if we can figure out exactly how Cybertronians did that, it will be a pathway to understanding English for kids like D'andre. And maybe if we understand exactly how the Trine are growing up bilingual, D'andre can learn English exactly the same way that they are."

The three of them looked at each other as it dawned on them that this might be not only the long-awaited, desperately hoped-for breakthrough for D'andre, but also for other children in his situation.

End Part 3


	4. Chapter 4

(Disclaimers in Part 1)

Skysong hopped as high as she could, trying to see over the edge of the workbench, but couldn't get quite high enough. Frustrated, the little seeker flapped her wings as hard as she could and tapped her thrusters the tiniest bit—just enough to catch the claws of one servo on the bench top. Still flapping furiously, she pulled herself the rest of the way up.

Intent on her goal, she didn't realize that Ratchet was carefully assessing her—the only reason the old medic hadn't, as he usually did, given her a helpful boost.

He nodded in satisfaction. Her damaged wings would never carry her very far, but she was making the most of the function she had left, and learning skills in the process. Soon, with her youngling upgrade, it would be a moot point.

Her new flight frame was probably very similar to the alt mode that she would eventually have, a Cybertronian flying machine intended to become an extension of the seeker's self. She would need the frame for about a year to a year and a half: not long, unless one was a very young seeker who could not fly on her own.

Skysong ran her servos over it. "Fly it now?" she asked hopefully.

"We need to get it adjusted for you first," Ratchet chuckled. "Hop in."

Flattening her wings against her back to keep from bumping them, she opened the cockpit and climbed in, lying on her front. Ratchet and Wheeljack checked to make sure she had a comfortable fit and that there was padding in all the right places, as well as armor plating that she could comfortably maglock to.

"Fly it now?" she asked again, bright optics peering up from inside the cockpit.

Wheeljack's servo curved around her little helm. "Not quite yet, sweetspark. Now we need to calibrate the control system for you."

She started to plug in. Ratchet got his digit in the way just in time. "Hold on there! Don't plug into a new system unless you do it the right way! That's dangerous!"

"'K, Ratcha. Sorry."

Sky sounded so downcast Ratcha found himself with a medic's sensitive hand on her little wings, stroking them just so. "Okay. Put up all your firewalls, just in case there is a virus. There's still some very nasty stuff out there from the war, so you _always_ check a new system out really carefully. Now you need to online the components one at a time and make sure you're not going to get zapped by feedback. Dial it up slowly until you see what it's going to do! If you download the feed from a sensory system that isn't working right, you'll wish you hadn't!"

"'K, Ratcha. Sorry. Just want to _fly_."

"I know, sweetspark," Ratchet said gently. "We'll get you up there as fast as we can. OK, firewalls up?"

"Yep!" she chirped.

"Then link up, and burst its boot-up sequence to me. Don't worry if it's full of errors the first time. That's what we're fixing. And don't poke around with anything else yet!"

"'K."

She followed his orders exactly. Her wings might be a lost cause, Wheeljack mused, but nothing at all had gone amiss in that little processor.

Adjusting the flight sensors was less unpleasant than repairing a bot's own sensor arrays, but sparklings were much less shy about screeching when something unpleasant happened.

The second such screech brought Barricade in like a herd of charging buffalo, optics blazing. "What the slag you doin' to my sparkling, medic?"

Wheeljack said calmingly, before Ratchet could start yelling, "The control surfaces on the vehicle are nearly as sensitive as a seeker's own wings. The sensors there have to be calibrated, which is not a pleasant task. It doesn't get any less unpleasant no matter how many times I've damaged my servos, for that matter. Your presence may make it easier for her."

"Sorry," Barricade said, his fields drawn in and still out of sorts.

Skysong said, "S'OK, Cade-Cade. It feels all fuzzy, like there's air blowing when there isn't. Can't fly it till they fix it. But it don't feel good when they try."

Which at least, Ratchet noted with the raise of an eyebrow, set Cade-Cade's fields to rights again.

"I know, sparkling. Getting sensors fixed is no fun." Barricade reached inside the cockpit to gently rub her backstrut.

Ratchet said, "We're getting there, bitlet. You know, if you don't turn the sensors up as fast, it won't be so hard. You want to find the ones that are out of adjustment before they zap you."

"'K."

"She really latches into that thing, huh?" Barricade said, his helm on one side.

"It's almost more of a mod than a vehicle, 'Cade. That's good in a way, because it's really going to help with her growth and development." Wheeljack said. "When I was a mechling, I helped out a few times calibrating fliers for the big shuttleformers. A few of them were shipformers who had downsized. They were the toughest seekers you ever saw, but they'd whine worse than _any_ sparkling before we got those monsters calibrated."

"Que," Ratchet said, "the resistors on the grav-balance circuit…"

"Who's Que?" the femmeling said.

"That's me, Song," Wheeljack murmured, 95% of his attention on his work and the other five answering the question.

"Why they call you that?"

He laughed. "It was Sides acting silly right after we first got here. He watched some movies that had a character in them called 'Q,' and thought the character was a lot like me, so that's what he started calling me, and it stuck."

Barricade stayed with his femmeling while they worked. She didn't screech any more, but a few times she grabbed his servo so hard he had little seekerlet-claw pinpricks in the mesh of his digits.

The price of being a parent, he mused, forebore to call them to Ratchet's attention later, and in fact kept them as "scars" by rerouting self-repair routines around them.

This did not mean that he and his daughter were other than very, very happy when the medic and the inventor finished.

"Can I fly it now?" Skysong asked. "Please?"

"Sure you don't want to get some energon and take a nap first?" Ratchet said, teasing.

But Skysong had no time left for anything but the long-delayed fulfillment of her heart's desire. "No, I want to fly! _Now!"_

"All right, bitlet. Just for a little while," Barricade said, after a surreptitious gathering of nods from the other two. "OK, out. I'm not carrying your flier _and_ you."

She wriggled out and hopped excitedly from one ped to the other as Barricade carefully lifted the flier. Instead of waiting for help down from the table, she maglocked to a startled Wheeljack and slid down his frame to the floor, then ran to catch up with her Guardian. "Sorry, Jack-Que," floated back to them, "but I gotta get out there!"

Ratchet and Wheeljack looked at each other and laughed, then followed them out to the airstrip. The flier was no more than solidly on the earth before Skysong was back in it, and taking off with all the skill she had acquired in flying the ultralight.

And, for the first time in too many orn, Skysong felt the wind rushing over her wings. She screeched for sheer joy as she wheeled and dived over the sand, at first alone in the crystal blue. But not for long; her brothers rocketed to join her, after Sideswipe, their caretaker-of-choice, commed for permission for them to do so.

Minutes later, Dr. Parker's ultralight, Amaranth in the passenger's seat and Annabelle and Sarah looking on, took Parker's usual position on Skimmer's wing.

Skysong slowed down to drop into formation with her little flock. Dr. Parker was their teacher, and Starskimmer did what she said in the air because otherwise they could all get hurt. But Starskimmer was…Skimmer was their wing's leader. That was the way things were supposed to be.

Amaranth waved at her, the child filled with a sheer joy that Skysong had never seen on her face anywhere but in the air. And Song's own spark now knew that joy as well.

There was a chorus of groans and complaints over the radio when Ratchet ordered Song down for a systems check, but Skimmer obediently turned and led them in for a landing.

Everyone crowded around Song when they rolled to a stop, her wing first, then Barricade and the two scientists.

Song leapt into Ratchet's arms, wrapped her tiny arms around his neck struts, and buried her face in his collarbone. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

He held the sparkling for a long time. If his optics were suspiciously bright with coolant, no one dared to say a word; he had his tool belt on, his wrenches at hand...

Skysong eventually looked around from her perch and found Sarah with a little girl clinging to each hand.

"Sarah, can I give my ultralight to Amaranth?"

"As soon as she's passed ground school, so that she can go up safely," Sarah said, after only a moment's deliberation. "Alicia, would you consider teaching another little Chuck Yeager?"

"I suppose I could make time for that," the doctor said with a wide grin. If she had her way about it, she'd steal them all for the Air Force.

Amaranth cheered at the top of her lungs and she hugged Annabelle, the two human femmelings jumping around in circles.

Sarah smiled. Operation: Kid was proceeding very well.

Barricade, readying himself for recharge, found the memory of the leaping femmelings and saved it as a clip, which he emailed to Ironhide, asking him to send it to Sarah.

Which caused Will Lennox' Guardian to think that perhaps the ex-con was finally catching on, after all.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

The next day, Ironhide pulled to a stop in the proving grounds parking lot and unlocked Annabelle's car seat restraints. Amaranth pushed on the red button in the center of hers, and it popped open. She extricated herself from the seat and helped Annabelle get out.

Ironhide's voice came from the radio. "You femmies see your parent over there waiting for you by the bleachers?"

"Yes, Ironhide!" the little ragamuffins chorused.

Only then did he open the back doors for them. "OK, hold hands and go straight over there."

They did so. Annabelle took the opportunity to teach Amaranth how to skip.

Ironhide immediately saved the video clip to memory and emailed it to Sarah. Once the girls arrived safely at their destination, he transformed and stepped over the fence, heading for the heavy weapons range.

He was testing a couple of new shell designs, both non-lethal weapons. One was a glue-covered net which expanded to a ten meter diameter about thirty feet up before gently settling over whoever happened to be causing a problem below. It was large enough to entangle a bot or two, or a whole crowd of humans.

The glue dried instantly. End of problem, as very little other than the can of solvent in his subspace would remove it.

The other shell was a sonic grenade, disorienting to bots and especially to humans. Most members of that tiny species contracted an abrupt and severe case of motion sickness for a few klicks to a breem after the grenade blew. Bots were abruptly robbed of their ability to navigate, and the test he had conducted that he wasn't supposed to indicated that they too wanted to purge their tanks. These effects made malefactors of both species much easier to round up and disarm.

Will was very interested in rifle-fired versions of both shells; Ironhide intended to speak to Optimus about the feasibility of selling the designs to the humans.

He paused for a moment to watch Chip Chase and another human, whom he did not know, at their own practice. Chip's companion seemed to have passing familiarity with the weapons they used, although the former Ranger was a much better marksman than the other. He had nearly regained the skill level which he had exhibited before his injury.

Their species liked to fight, and that species was going to continue to do so no matter what anyone said. Some spark-level programming they weren't aware of, Hide mused. He thought it would be a good idea to try to steer them towards fighting in ways that didn't end up with massive numbers of people being maimed or killed. Maybe they'd go for it, maybe they wouldn't, but the weapons specialist considered it worth a try.

Once he perfected the designs, he would begin miniaturizing them for use by humans. It was amazing what could be crammed into a fifty-caliber round.

This morning he found that the net round failed to deploy reliably. Occasionally, when the net spun out of the cartridge, it flipped up and stuck to the outside of the shell, preventing the rest of it from spinning out to its full extension. A bot hit by the half-deployed net and cartridge was unlikely to be harmed by it, but humans might not survive having the equivalent of a fifty-gallon drum full of rope dropped on their heads. He let the glue set up, then subspaced the dud to find out why it hadn't worked.

While it set, he test fired one of the null-rays he was building for Burnout. That weapon wasn't finished yet, but he wanted to make sure it wasn't going to draw power too rapidly; Burnout was almost a mini-bot, which meant his battery capacity had to be taken into consideration.

Once the test firing was done and the dud collected, he went back to the human area to watch the end of the littles' martial arts lesson.

Ironhide was startled by Amaranth's level of skill. She was hampered by her immature physical form, though in a few years, she would be truly formidable.

However, acquiring that skill had cost Amaranth the innocent fun that Annabelle and the other children were having, fun that every sparkling of any species was entitled to. No one that young ought, in the old weaponsmaster's eyes, to be a warrior, but Amaranth had been made into one.

None of the rest of the little ones knew that Amaranth was allowed to shoot the paintball guns. She herself worked harder than anyone else to shield them from that knowledge. That she did so hurt Will and Ironhide, for it demonstrated that she knew how much innocence she had lost.

That she wanted to spare her little friends their own innocence for just a bit longer? More than her remarkable skills, in Ironhide's eyes that decision marked Amaranth out as a true warrior.

The human Ironhide did not know well came to stand beside him. "Interesting weapons you were firing this morning," the young man said.

"Yeah, they are, ain't they? I ain't met you before, I don't think. I'm Ironhide."

"Jack Binns. I give Chip Chase a bit of help.—Wow, she's good!"

Amaranth's adult opponent picked himself up out of the dirt and bowed to her.

"She is, ain't she?"

"Sure enough. Annabelle's adopted sister, I've heard."

Ironhide made a noncommittal noise. Binns wasn't cleared to know anything else about Amaranth.

The teachers dismissed the girls, and Ironhide said gruffly, "Nice to meet you, Jack. I've gotta get the kids back."

"Sure," said the man who, twenty minutes earlier, had scored his first bull's-eye from three hundred yards. "Take it easy."

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Everyone knew where Area 51 was. Part of the cluster of Air Force facilities centered on Nellis AFB, which also included the Mission City Facility, Area 51 was legendary among UFO buffs for its work with a crashed spaceship in the mid-2000s. What few people knew was that there had been survivors of the crash, and that those survivors had lived at Area 51, assisted by Sector 4, until they were able to build a generation ship and begin their long journey home.

After the grays were on their way home, Area 51 was used primarily for hush-hush flight testing, but many of its laboratories and workspaces had been converted to other uses, equally classified. There were still signs on the surrounding fence warning that trespassers might be shot. UFOlogists commonly had their pictures taken near such signs, or nonchalantly leaning against them. The creative ones had friends who dressed in olive drab and waved guns at them in the background.

Or, at least they'd done so before the Battle of Chicago made the existence of aliens front page news. Now, much of the fringe activity had moved to Mission City. And the people working for a living at Area 51 had breathed a collective sigh of relief.

One such worker, Dr. Derek Pierpoint, had been a robotics engineer for fifteen years before he came to 51, and that was ten years ago. He enjoyed his job, which was pretty much his life since he had no family to speak of, and no social life, which drastically cut the odds that he would ever obtain one. In Derek's life, all the excitement took place in his lab.

At least it did until just after the Battle of Chicago, when the wreckage of the Decepticon fliers began to arrive at Area 51 on flatbed trucks. For several weeks, he had been one of the team which worked on the wrecked aircraft. During that time the dangerous armaments had been taken into custody by the Cybertronians' weapons master, Ironhide, and the crew he brought with him from the Mission City base.

After working on those aircraft for a short while, though, Derek met a man named Lowell Zain, who recruited him to work with one of the military contractors, and soon he had been transferred to his present job, studying some inert robots discovered after the battle.

His subjects were human-sized, but he had studied Cybertronian fliers long enough to recognize their technology. For all their size they were definitely Cybertronian, though from their pristine condition, Pierpoint was certain that they had never been activated.

He was no closer now to waking one up than he ever had been.

He called Zain. "It's Pierpoint. I need you to get me all the video you can of the big ones in action. Damaged ones especially, I need to see what some of these structures do when they're powered up."

"You got it, doc."

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Diarwen put on a warm jacket before meeting Optimus in the parking lot. Nevada was absolutely wonderful this time of year, but Wyoming was colder. Betony's trailer full of protoforms had been sitting at a truck stop in Cheyenne for long enough now that they were certain no one was coming to pick it up; Optimus had decided to cut their losses and bring it in before someone stole it. He hoped they might learn something from the protoforms.

The Little Twins led off. Sunstreaker had not yet been allowed back on full duty, and was not happy with them. Optimus thought it best not to leave them on base in his absence.

Diarwen asked, "How old are those two?"

"Bumblebee's age, but he has always been more mature than they."

"Are any of them adults?"

Optimus said, "They are in adult frames, but...sooner than they ought have been. Younglings did not survive the last few vorn on Cybertron." His voice was full of regret. "But to call any of them younglings now would do them a disservice. Bumblebee especially is an adult by anyone's definition of that word. The Little Twins are less mature psychologically, but roughly the same chronological age. I have found that the best way to deal with those two is to treat them like mature mecha, but expect them to act like sparklings. It is a challenge to provide them with the guidance and stability that they need, yet to respect the autonomy which they have earned. I am thankful that they are content to be a part of the clan, and to accept the leadership of our mature warriors. Most of the time, anyway."

"Yet Sunstreaker was badly hurt."

"Yes, and they caused it. They understand this, and I believe them when they say they did not intend to cause any real suffering. They will stand Sunstreaker's watches as well as their own, and do whatever other work he requires of them, until such time as the medics release him to full duty.

"Since Sideswipe is involved—I found him to be suffering right along with his twin, which is not surprising—there will also be the matter of his revenge. Unless he does something I cannot condone in my presence, there will be no reprisal, so long as the twins do not require more recovery time than did Sunstreaker."

Surprised, Diarwen asked, "Has he done something you could not condone?"

"A time or eighty-three."

She snorted.

Optimus continued, "But the fault was not entirely theirs. Sunstreaker's own temper contributed a great deal to his current plight. Had he gone straight to the washracks to remove the glitter, instead of transforming and chasing the twins from one end of the base to the other, he would have been unharmed."

Diarwen nodded. "I see." And she did; the incident was a perfect demonstration of all three personalities involved. "I admit to a certain confusion about bots' ages, or should I say, maturity levels."

"We do not have a set age of majority as the humans do. In peacetime, sparklings became younglings when they were ready for their youngling frames. Younglings became adults when they were ready for their adult upgrades. There was no hurry; these upgrades were not done until they became necessary.

"Younglings were expected to take their time to see where they best fit within the duties of their caste and cohort, and upgrade into the frame that best helped them fulfill those functions. Older younglings often took their first steps into living independently by finding an apartment in the youth sectors and experimenting with entry-level jobs, but just as frequently they settled into place within their clan and cohort." The leader of the Autobots heaved a sigh. "They were supposed to enjoy life, and find their adult cohort and their mates, not take on responsibility before its time. But war came, and the Decepticons were no respecters of youth and civilian status. Nearly everyone had to choose a side and fight. I ordered that all sparklings and younglings be upgraded as soon as it could be done safely. History will judge me for that, but I saw no other way to guarantee their safety at the time."

Diarwen agreed solemnly. "During the years that my people were harried by the Church, I saw many a youth take up arms and armor before ever it would have been allowed in better times. There was, as there was for you, no choice. A curse on war, that turns everything upside down and takes the young, leaving their elders to mourn them."

Optimus hummed agreement.

At Salt Lake City, they took I-80 east to Cheyenne. The outer levels of their auras tangled lightly, not enough to be a distraction if trouble should appear, and both were content with that.

At highway speeds, it was a twelve-hour drive from Las Vegas to Cheyenne. Dry crinkled land flashed past their windows. This time of year, the desert, or according to geologists the basin-and-range which constituted most of Nevada, was greener than it would be later.

"Skids, Mudflap, what's the speed limit in Nevada?"

"Seventy-five, Optimus."

"Please respect it. It is also seventy-five in Arizona. I expect we might be able to go faster late at night and very early in the morning, as both of those are sparsely populated states, but when we do that it will be outside cities and we will need to keep our sensors peeled for radar traps."

There was a very long silence. Then one of the twins (Diarwen found it hard to tell their voices apart on the radio) said, "Why would we want to remove the outer layers from our sensors, Optimus? That would really…hurt."

The Sidhe who was supposed to be driving Optimus laughed so hard she fell to the floor under the steering wheel. She missed Optimus' explanation, but then it took place entirely in Cybertronian, as English lacked the terms, and humans (or for that matter Sidhe) the very concepts, needful to explain that uniquely Cybertronian misperception.

Diarwen got control of herself in time to hear one of the twins say meekly, "Yes, Optimus." She sat back up, and the hologram-driver morphed slowly to her own appearance, then faded.

So as not to scare the horses. They were in traffic at the time; sparse traffic, but still ...

The boys―or at least that's how Diarwen thought of them; she might have to do something about that―obeyed their Prime quite strictly. In the more deserted stretches he cut them loose, and often, to their delight, challenged them to a race.

He lost, occasionally. Diarwen knew this was deliberate, but it left the children―the young warriors, rather―in a very good mood indeed.

They crossed into Wyoming near a town called Evanston. Optimus said, "Skids, Mudflap, please respect the speed limit. It was eighty in Utah but in Wyoming it's seventy-five."

One of the young mecha said, precisely, "Pout," and Diarwen picked herself up from under Optimus' steering wheel yet again.

Optimus asked her, completely straight-faceplated, "Should I get a softer floor as mod?"

"No, it is not…hee…necessary. The young fellows have provided me with enough amusement to make my ribs sore."

She felt rather than saw him smile. "Apart from that, are you feeling all right? We can stop for a while if you grow too tired."

"I am fine, _acushla. _I will tell you when I get hungry and need to stop for something, but I am not tired. I am enjoying this time with you. At home it seems we are always so busy."

"Yes, I know. It is complicated."

"We have a full day together, nearly. And this beautiful country."

"It is beautiful, isn't it? Unlike your native Ireland, though. More like my home, in fact."

"Is it so? I would have thought the difference between Cybertron and Earth to be greater than that."

"It was, in many ways, but in others... Except for a small rocky core, Cybertron was a manufactured world. But there were vast empty areas between the cities. Those open areas were wild like this. Ours was not the only species on the planet, either; there were various creatures from those as small as glitchmice to others as large as the drillers. We find words in English for them because they evolved to fill certain niches just as your organic creatures do. All...gone now. Most were extinct before we ever left Cybertron."

They drove in silence for some miles. Then he said, "Tell me what you have been translating. You have not been sending me as many new glyphs."

"Chromia has given me copies of some of her library. It is not difficult reading, but the settings are fascinating."

"Ah. She reads the most awful romance novels."

"They are interesting to a stranger to your culture. A window into the everyday lives of people in Iacon before the war. It is striking to me how that city could have been London or New York, or any other great human city. The individual neighborhoods are even similar to Sidhe villages. People are the same. I am not a reader of romance novels, but I have purchased a few online for Chromia. I hope that she will enjoy them."

"I am sure that she will," Optimus said. She could not see his smile, but she could hear it in his voice, even modulated as it was through the radio. His tone became more serious with his next question: "Diarwen, is there a Sidhe literary tradition?"

"A perceptive question, _acushla_. There is, but it is oral and not written. We are a nomadic people, and memory lasts longer than books, which are fragile, rarely surviving our peripatetic lifestyle for long. We carry our tales with us in the form of songs and stories, meant to be sung or told: heard rather than read. And our religious tradition forbids writing down anything that is oath-bound, for obvious reasons. These things are always passed down orally, master to student, or parent to child. This is why minstrels and bards are so important to our culture. There was a time when a bard could walk safely through all the kingdoms of Eire, human and Sidhe alike, and never need draw a blade."

He was silent for almost two miles of barren country…barren at least to a Sidhe's eyes, although she knew that life flourished here as it did everywhere on Earth. "If that is so," he said finally, "your people cannot have very long stories, can they? Nothing longer than can be told over a night's fire."

"No, we do not have very long tales like, oh, _War and Peace, _for instance. Our longer works are told in cycles of related stories."

"And unpopular tales fall by the wayside?"

"To an extent, as they do everywhere, but one of the duties of a bard is to learn the Histories. Those do not always portray their subjects in a popular light; their purpose instead is to preserve the truth."

"Much like the tales our Conservators would tell."

"Conservators?"

"Yes. I think the closest analog Earth has are the _geisha _of Japan."

Diarwen tilted her head, and looked her lover straight in the rear-view mirror. "I am not terribly familiar with the culture of Japan, Optimus. But I do know that after the second world war, few of the occupying American forces thought that _geisha_ were other than prostitutes."

"Which was never true. Some would include having sex in their 'performance,' for sufficient money, but most are simply consummate performers. That the GIs made that error was perhaps understandable, as they came from a culture which was…odd about such things. But the Cybertronian _geisha_ themselves…I knew a Conservator when I was a mechling in the palace; her designation was Milestrina. I truly hope that she still lives, somehow, although it is not likely: she was elderly when the war broke out. Her songs and stories taught me much of the history of our people: not merely dates and names, but the emotional and philosophical underpinnings of the various disagreements that go to make up history. And many of those stories, as among your people, outlived their creators."

"I wish that I could hear one of her songs."

"They…they are pleasing to Cybertronians, Diarwen. Not perhaps to Sidhe, and certainly not to humans."

"It is a matter of accepting the differing culture…although that is not a guarantee of success. I have never learned to like the music of northern Asia, for instance."

"China, Japan, Tibet?"

"Aye, and Nepal. Many of those are history-songs."

"Ah. Will you sing me one of your own people's history-songs?"

"In Sidhe, or in English? I have translated a few."

"Choose one you have translated. Can I impose upon you to sing it in both languages?"

"Of course. Can you give me a 'C' tone?"

He did, and she took her pitch from it and sang a few arpeggios, to warm up her voice.

What followed was a song of blighted love, bloodshed, and betrayal in the Seelie Court, sung in a beautiful silvery tone that somehow made its contents more wrenching, set to a tune which ensured that neither singer nor auditor would soon forget it.

Optimus drew a deep in-vent. "That was entirely lovely. What do you say if people ask you where you found that song?"

"I present it as my own, which is a half-truth. I wrote the lyrics, but Orthelion the music; may Brigit forgive me for taking his credit."

"When did all this happen?"

"Roughly, I think, during the Anglo-Saxon period, as humans describe their history; it occurred whilst I was in Tir nan Og, lands which owed allegiance to the Seelie court, for an extended period. The subjects of the song, Aislinn, Niall, and Conchur, I knew personally, though I was absent from the court itself when the events dealt with in the song occurred."

"One can see how literature evolved from this. Reading the humans' literature, it's entirely clear that stories are meant to be read aloud and shared, not experienced alone."

They passed a few hours in very contented discussion of said literature: American and English, as well as that of various other Earth cultures which Optimus had discovered since his arrival on Earth; then Cybertronian as well, with excursion into the Sidhe from time to time. Both cultures were closer to their oral roots than the humans'.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

At Area 51, Derek Pierpoint covered several large monitors with images from the fighting in Chicago. Most of it was from soldiers' helmet cams, but the angle on some shots, very high from the human standpoint, meant that they must have been taken by Cybertronians.

Images of battle-damaged Decepticons allowed him to see some of the structures that he found in these unactivated robots, on a larger scale of course.

Between that, and a study of his specimens, Pierpoint had discovered how they took on an alternative form, but he had not been able to determine exactly what changed these inert forms to active, independent entities.

Watching videos shot during the battle, however, he thought he understood. There was one structure in the chest that was active only in a living Transformer. He had previously hesitated to use "living" in reference to what seemed to human eyes to be a robot, but his studies had forced him to reconsider that.

This structure, which the Transformers apparently referenced as the "spark," was absent in all his specimens. The now-lost cube once held at the Hoover Dam facility had kindled this spark in its creations. Precisely how this was done had never been documented.

Pierpoint had decided that "spark" was the key to understanding their alien visitors. His studies were made simpler by the nature of the robots that he was studying. They were intended to scan and transform into humans, not vehicles. Knowing the end result made the process easier to comprehend.

He bent over his lab table, with the single-minded focus of a scientist who knew he was very near a breakthrough.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

It was a tired group who rolled into a motel in Cheyenne, Wyoming. The trailer that they were going to pick up was parked at a truck stop across the street, but Optimus had decided it would be better to rest for the night. In the morning, they could pick it up and be gone before rush hour began.

They rented two rooms, so that the twins could park in the lot with Optimus, and not attract the attention of the night clerk, who would report to the police the presence of vehicles not associated with a room. That might result in those vehicles being towed.

Therefore Skids' and Mudflap's holoforms accompanied Diarwen into the motel office. She politely declined the clerk's attempts at chat, for the twins had to avoid contact with anyone else and the furniture too, and keep their holoforms from flickering into the bargain.

She let them into their room and rumpled the beds, turned the water on in the shower, and wet a couple of towels before going to her own room. By the time she had showered and gone to bed, the twins were deep in recharge, parked just outside their rooms.

Optimus stayed at the other end of the lot with several other tractor-trailer rigs of various description, keeping first watch.

He missed having Roller with him, but the remote's presence on the base gave him swift access if any problems arrived…and Roller needed to travel in his trailer.

Still, Roller would have been of great help in ensuring the trailer they were going to pick up was not a trap. Optimus and Prowl had not completely ruled out the possibility that Soundwave was somehow involved. It was unlikely, but not impossible.

The alternative, that this was not a Decepticon operation, concerned him even more, because he didn't know what anyone else would be doing with Pretender protoforms.

There was a spate of check-ins right before midnight, and then again at two o'clock when the bars closed. Once the parking lot cleared, he woke one of the twins and got a few hours' recharge.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

When the shift changed at the lab and the day crew came on duty, Derek Pierpoint was startled to realize that he had worked through the night. He shut down his workstations and powered down the protoform that he was experimenting on, planning to catch a few hours' sleep on the couch in his office.

A courier knocked on the door frame. "Dr. Pierpoint?"

"That's me."

"Got an early Christmas present for ya."

"Thanks, kid. Have a good one."

"You too." The courier turned to go and came face to face with the protoform on the slab. "Yeesh! Those things give me the creeps. They're like corpses but...not."

"It's a phenomenon known as the uncanny valley. Something that's almost human, but not quite, tends to have a disquieting effect on most of us."

"Yeah, whatever you say, doc. I just hope they don't all wake up one of these days and decide they're hungry for brains."

"I think we can be fairly sure that won't happen," Pierpoint said, and grinned.

The courier shook his head and left, walking a little faster than he needed to.

Pierpoint slit the envelope and removed its contents, a file folder marked "Beaverton, Oregon." He opened it and scanned the cover sheet, then sat down and started to read, all thoughts of his office and sleep suddenly forgotten.

End Part 4


	5. Chapter 5

(Disclaimers in Part 1)

Diarwen made a quick meal of an apple and some milk from the motel breakfast bar, then settled the bill for the rooms. It was just before the pre-dawn sky began to lighten; they wanted to get moving before Optimus' distinctive markings attracted attention.

They might be recognized when they claimed the abandoned trailer from the truck stop across the street. But the less time they were there for crowds and reporters to gather, the better.

The truck stop was beginning to stir when all three Cybertronians arrived from the motel, as those frugal or impoverished drivers who had spent the night in their sleepers rather than renting a motel room across the street yawned and stumbled inside for their breakfast. They cursed the cold and vowed to drive only down south in the winter, vows that would be carelessly broken the next time they were offered a northbound load.

Pulling into the lot, Optimus carefully scanned the trailer; then Diarwen opened it. How better to get something nasty into the Autobots' base than to get them to take it inside? That strategy had been successful three thousand years ago at Troy, and long before that on Cybertron.

But this time, nothing was amiss.

Skids poked one of the protoforms. "Optimus, is this one of them Pretenders like that Alice Kaela offlined?"

"I am sure of it. I had my suspicions that, to so accurately mimic the human form, they had to be purpose-built to take that alt mode."

"What are we going to do with them?"

"Keep them out of the wrong hands. Aside from that, I will leave them to Ratchet and Wheeljack," Optimus said.

"Uhh...they're weird. Are they minibots or microbots?"

"They are minibots. Microbots are smaller even than Brains and Wheelie."

Diarwen shooed the twins away from the back of the trailer and helped Optimus link it up. Unlike his trailer, it did not cooperate in this process, and some guidance for the cables was welcome.

By the time the sun came up, they were on their way back to Nevada.

Diarwen asked, "What are microbots?"

"As the term implies, they are extremely small Cybertronians. I am not referring to drones, which can be very small indeed, since they do not have to accommodate a spark."

"So a drone is what I would think of as a robot?"

"Very much so. And the term 'drone' is considered a serious insult when applied to mecha, and it is an unfortunately common slur for preprogrammed mecha. Some drones have an artificial intelligence which gives them a degree of autonomy, but not judgment or independent will. Roller was one such, before we were caught in the ion storm." Diarwen clearly heard the smile in his voice. "Since that happened, Ratchet and I no longer think we have an explanation for Roller. He is simply himself."

"Well," the Sidhe said thoughtfully, "I might. I believe he is similar to a homunculus or to some familiars. Somehow the storm gave him a measure of your life-force, or perhaps you unwittingly did so in helping him to survive it. He is linked to you, and will always be, I think. Each time you inhabit him, you strengthen the link, but you also make him a little stronger and a little more independent. At some future time, he may fully be an entity in his own right, a separate person bonded to you, rather than an extension of you. How much of that potential he might be able to manifest is a thing that we can only wait to see."

"I will keep that in mind, and make a note to inhabit him more often. I often wonder how much awareness he has."

"Right now? Quite a bit, within his limitations. He is mentally much like a kitten or puppy, capable of much more emotion than thought."

"Another innocent that I have sent into harm's way."

Diarwen exhaled sharply, making a noise like "puh." "Optimus, you must stop feeling guilty about every single situation that fate throws at you. You were put in a horrendously difficult position when you were little more than a mechling because the gods knew you were strong enough to preserve as many lives as could be saved. When it comes to Roller, you kept him safe, and you treated him with sufficient kindness that he loves you. That is all that could be asked of you, and it is reasonable to think your accomplishment sufficient."

There was a long silence, and then he said, "You are as wise as Chromia."

"Thank you," Diarwen said, and resolved to share that memory with Chromia, though in the limited way available to Sidhe and humans: by telling her about it. "Now you were talking to me about microbots, I believe."

"Yes. They specialized in medicine as well as fine assembly skills of other kinds. Some were gestalts who, when combined, formed an average size minibot. When the war broke out, most who were not medics became spies. The last such collective that I knew of was the Decepticon Reedman, who was responsible for the theft of the Shard that was used to revive Megatron from the Diego Garcia base. I do not know what became of Reedman's individual components after that, but they were never confirmed dead. None of the former Decepticons on base know what became of them."

"Another who is still out there somewhere."

"Possibly. Individual Decepticons, particularly of the lesser ranks, quite commonly disappeared in incidents which had nothing to do with us. Occasionally they reappeared after a long absence, but for the most part a disappearance tended to be permanent."

"I see." She paused. "Optimus, what do you think Ratchet will do with these protoforms?"

"Gain information from them, I hope, about where they came from and, equally importantly, who is collecting them now. That aside, they won't be permanently deactivated, if that is what you fear, my tenderhearted fierce Sidhe. I believe that he will keep them against the day that we might need them."

Diarwen nodded. She had not _really_ thought the Cybertronians would do anything terminal with them, but it was reassuring to know that despite their manufacture, they might become useful.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Derek Pierpoint finished reading the final report on the murders at Premium Software, in Beaverton, Oregon. At first, of course, he was horrified by what he had read. He'd put the file jacket down, and taken a long walk to clear his head and get coffee. But when he returned, he dredged up his clinical detachment, and put it to good use as he read through the file again.

For the first time, Pierpoint was a little suspicious about the information in the file. Again, some of its contents had come from the Cybertronians, and from the way Ironhide and his team had guarded the components they'd taken off the fliers, they were very careful about security. There was definitely classified information here, speculation about the headsets, and information about the prototype device that Lester Hardy had built in the early 1980s. Pierpoint was not certain that he had the security clearance to be allowed to see this. He certainly understood that it was not something that he could discuss with anyone. However, it did have a direct bearing on his research.

Perhaps it would be possible to activate such a headset at exactly the same time as the transformation scanning array on the robot was booted up. That should allow the robot to copy a subject's memories, which might permit the subject to control it remotely. Perhaps it would even be able to answer questions and obey commands. In any case, the idea of a robotic "mini-me" was extremely interesting.

The headset wouldn't be that hard to build. He drew up a list of the components that he would need and transmitted it, then went to get a few hours of sleep while the parts were sent to him.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Ratchet didn't have room in medbay for all the protoforms, and they had to be stored securely.

For now, most of them were kept in the room next to Jazz' office, which had been meant to be Prowl's. The bondmates could continue to double up for the time being.

Jazz asked Optimus to order that no one else have access to the protoforms until he had a chance to examine them thoroughly. Even though Mirage and Prime had already inspected them and detected no malware, Jazz' expertise made him the final authority.

So it was that he had a random protoform on an exam table borrowed from the human side of medbay and set atop one of his work benches. Mikaela, Chip, and Dr. Parker attended also, out of curiosity, and Prowl was there as backup in case something went wrong.

Mikaela said, "This looks like it could have been Alice's protoform. I didn't have the training then in engineering, or in observation, that I do now, and it was a real mad minute, but I don't see anything to rule it out."

Jazz said, "Ratchet will be able to tell us. Ah just want to make sure Sounders or Shockwave didn't leave anything lyin' around before med-sci starts examining it."

Ratchet and Jolt wandered in as well. Jolt said, "That's it? And they're all the same? I didn't know frames that small had ever been mass produced. I thought they were only built when someone had a specific reason to be that small."

Ratchet said, "They weren't mass produced before the war. This is something the 'Cons did."

Chip asked, "Hey, Ratch, you said…specific reason? You mean a regular-sized bot can get reformatted into one of them?"

Ratchet grinned. "Sure. As long as there's room for the spark casing—and there is, barely. Processor's the same size. I can think of some bots who might be less trouble in a smaller package."

The former spec ops bot said, "The only problem is they'd be fraggin' everything that would hold still long enough to get rid of the excess charge, but yeah, you could do it. I have for missions a few times, for limited periods. They weren't human alts a'course but real little regular frames."

The medic said, "The fragging would keep them too busy to cause other trouble."

"Depends on yer definition of 'causin' trouble,' doc bot," the saboteur replied. "Find a couple of compatible troublemakers, though, reformat 'em, hey presto! Problem solved, all around." He flipped open the protoform's cervical port and plugged into it.

The room lost all its joviality as both Prowl and Ratchet began monitoring Jazz for potential problems.

It took Jazz very little time to give the protoform a thorough evaluation, since nothing but basal programming was installed. He unlinked and vented as he shook off the uncomfortable sensation of being in the wrong frame. "It's clear. All yours, doc bot."

"Stop calling me that." Ratchet collected the protoform and its exam table.

Prowl asked, "There was nothing but the standard Decepticon programming suite?"

"Their standard stuff, yeah. Other'n that it's fine."

Ratchet left with his burden, and Dr. Parker hitched a lift with Jolt as he followed his craftmaster back to medbay.

Chip snickered, "Spark too big for your frame, huh? I'll bet that makes a helluva pickup line."

Jazz grinned audial to audial.

Prowl was silent for a beat, then thumped his mate a good one on the back of the helm.

Both humans howled with laughter.

Unrepentant, Jazz said, "Ah, that line got old vorn ago."

Chip said, "Yeah, but that was on Cybertron. New world, new joke."

Prowl put his helm into his servos, and groaned.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Late that evening, the lab had cleared out by the time Derek Pierpoint finished assembling the headset and testing it. In fact, except for the guards and cleaning staff, the building was empty. They were used to Pierpoint working all hours, and paid no attention to him.

Until the lights flashed, and they heard a scream and a thud from the lab. Several MPs came running, and found Dr. Pierpoint lying on the floor—and another Dr. Pierpoint, wearing only a sheet, lying on the workbench.

The one on the floor was dead as a doornail.

The one on the bench booted up.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

A few days after Thanksgiving, Diarwen was in quarters, working on her translation.

Mikaela was on-shift, and going out later with Chip, she said; "Don't expect me back until tomorrow," she'd added with a grin.

So Diarwen had cranked up the stereo and flopped on the couch with her datapad. In spite of herself, she had gotten caught up in the romance between the two main characters, Makewell and SafeKeeper, and found herself rooting for them to stop agonizing over it and _get together_ already. When, after all sorts of histrionics they _finally _declared their love for one another and moved in together, she was ready to jump up and cheer. Or, worse yet, make that embarrassing "squee" noise that she had heard Flareup emit on occasion.

She giggled through the translation of an extremely florid seduction scene, marred only by the absence of any bodices to be ripped. There were enough descriptions of "heaving ventilations" and "tremulous cables"—and of course poor virginal Makewell had no idea what precisely he was meant to be doing with those tremulous cables, all his medical training having flown right out of his processor in the heated moment.

Diarwen remembered her own first virginal explorations and laughed until the tears ran. Her own species and Cybertronians were physically nothing alike, but the excitement and embarrassment and passion were all the same.

But then, Diarwen went on to translate the next passage and found the exercise suddenly much more difficult. She'd had a context up until now, since Optimus had explained to her many of the things the fictional lovers were doing. Although she could not experience it, she understood the theory of linking processors and coupling various physical systems.

Then, however, the lovers opened their chest plates, baring their sparks to one another, both of them trembling and frightened, yet eager. The new glyphs were, thank the gods, in her lexicon, though it took a while to find them: they were in the medical section.

Optimus had not mentioned a word about this merging of sparks, which the novel described as the most intimate and wonderful experience that two Cybertronians could share. That was the act which constituted, in their culture, loss of innocence. It was that which consummated a mating. And no wonder—far beyond the shared pleasure involved, the lovers offered up their very essences to one another in the ultimate act of trust.

Diarwen thought that the proper translation here was most likely the medieval term "to know" one's lover.

And then, she discovered the glyph for sparkbond. She knew about that, of course, from Ironhide and Chromia, and from Jazz and Prowl. And she could see in the two couples' auras what such a bond meant. In many ways, two lives became inseparably one. Now, finally she understood that if a couple were fortunate, that bond formed during their first spark merge, and remained after they physically separated. From the tactician and the saboteur, the Cybertronians knew beyond doubt that such a bond transcended all else, even death.

But if this were so, how much would she be forever unable to give Optimus? How much of a normal life was he sacrificing to be with her? Even the temporary bond between lovers who were not sparkmates would be denied him.

Troubled, she turned off the data pad and put it away. There was too much that she did not know.

She drew a resolute breath and closed her eyes, moving into meditational space. When she opened them, she sought out the medbay.

Which contained, at this hour, Ratchet.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Derek Pierpoint opened his eyes to find a white-faced Lowell Zain, three MPs, and a medic staring down at him. "What happened?"

Zain looked at something on the floor, then back to Pierpoint. "That's what everyone else wants to know too. What were you doing here?"

"I was…ah…attempting to imprint the robot with my thought patterns, in hopes that I would be able to control it, perhaps even question it. But the power level must have been too high, because there was some sort of feedback. I must have been knocked unconscious."

"OK. Doc. Take a deep breath. Your experiment worked. I mean it _really_ worked a lot better than you expected."

"What do you mean? Out with it, you're getting spooky!"

"Uh, no, I'm not the one getting spooky. Maybe you should just…look down here."

Pierpoint turned his head, then rolled on his side to look over the edge of the table, where he came face-to-face with his glassy-eyed and recently departed self.

It was fortunate for the sake of secrecy that the labs had been very well soundproofed. Otherwise, Derek Pierpoint's screams would have been heard all the way to Las Vegas.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Ironhide knew that humans did not have fields, or rather that their fields were tiny and almost imperceptible compared to those of his kind, and that Sidhe fields were roughly the same. When Diarwen left medbay, however, hers almost crackled with…what was that phenomenon called? Oh yes, "lightning."

He continued to await the arrival of his mate. The Sidhe paused only for a moment to return the Tiny Trine's greeting, and nodded to Jazz in some way which turned the saboteur, expert as he was at reading body language, away from her. Nodded to Flareup and kept walking. Chromia laid a servo on her arm, which Diarwen returned with both hands, and Ironhide could read his mate's concern clear across the commons.

Diarwen left Chromia with a smile that Hide did not, for a moment, believe. Across their bond, Chromia sent, ::She's disturbed and upset. Will you go with her? She's going to sword dance.::

He sent a pulse of wordless love to her and followed the Sidhe warrior first to building A where her quarters were located, then to the proving grounds…farther away than she should have been, really, from the camp, even though by now she had fully recovered from the poisoning.

His servos curled. Just as well he'd never faced those two humans. He was not quite sure how he would have stopped himself from offlining both.

Diarwen had to know he was there, but her eyes were inward, and whatever she was looking at distressed her greatly.

She put down a blanket, laid a water bottle on it. Shed her jacket, even though it was not at all warm out. Wrapped her braid to shorten it, and fastened it with something that held the thickness against her neck.

The sword dance Diarwen embarked upon left Ironhide breathless. She was not sword dancing so much as she was waging war against an invisible opponent. No quarter was given, and no mercy shown.

He wasn't sure how long he had watched before he became aware that Diarwen's opponent was herself.

When she finished, he knew that she had lost.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

The Lennox farm was a welcome sight when Diarwen rounded the last bend before it. A military flight had taken her from Nellis to Andrews, and then she had caught the train to Baltimore.

Penn Station had been the usual mess of commuters. Diarwen pushed through the crowd without registering any of the faces. Coffee and a bagel from a sandwich wagon had fortified her for the long trek to the coast, city buses to the local beltway, I-695, and then Shank's Ponies for the last ten miles of the journey. Ordinarily such an excursion would have been a welcome adventure. This time, she could not remember anything she had passed along the way.

The truck that Betony was driving for its injured owner sat, cold and lifeless, in the feed lot in front of the main barn.

Her eyes swam with tears, so that she heard rather than saw Annabelle's pony trotting about her nearby paddock. She stroked the shaggy neck, breathed in the sweet horse-scent, and somehow felt less ragged around the edges for having done so. "I am sorry, Daisy. I have no carrots for you today. I will remedy that the next time I come out."

She fumbled her key in the lock of the farmhouse's front door and went inside, putting down her large pack, and sword and harp cases, inside the door.

Betony called from the kitchen, "Who is it?"

Diarwen knew that she had better answer quickly. "It is I! I am sorry, I did not mean to startle you."

"It's just kind of a long way from anywhere else out here, and I wasn't expecting anybody," Betony explained as she bustled out of the kitchen. "Why didn't you call from the station, I'd have picked you—" the long-hauler's voice fell silent as she came through the door and saw her friend. "Oh, Diarwen, what's happened? Is Will OK?"

"Yes, yes! Everyone is fine. Oh, what an fool I am not to have called. I am so sorry to have given you that idea." Betony pulled the Sidhe into her arms, and they stayed that way for a while, Diarwen's head on her friend's shoulder. Then she heaved a long, shuddering sigh.

Betony, stroking Diarwen's back, said, "No, it's all right. You can't help it if...if that's where my mind goes whenever someone comes to the door unexpectedly. Come on into the kitchen, I'll put the kettle on. You must be frozen. Did you walk all the way out here?"

"I caught the express bus as far as the freeway, but I walked from there. I did not even think to try to hitch a ride."

Betony's lips compressed to a thin line, and the look in her eyes would have made it obvious to anyone that she and one Will Lennox came from the same stock. But she didn't say a word until Diarwen was seated in the warm, brightly lit kitchen with a soft knitted throw tucked around her thin shoulders and a mug full of steaming tea in her hands. Betony parked herself and her own mug across the table from her friend.

"What's he done?"

"What has who done?"

"He. The man in the case. I've never seen a woman with that look on her face, when there wasn't a man—or a male of some kind—involved. Now what in the hell did he do?"

"Nothing, it was nothing like that. It simply…did not work. I am too different…I cannot be ..."

Betony reached across the table to cover Diarwen's slender, cold hands with her own. "OK, Diarwen. I'm so sorry."

"What do I do now?"

"You live, sweetie." Betony sighed. "You drink your tea, you take a nice hot bath to get warmed up before you get pneumonia, then we'll spend the evening with chick flicks and a bottle of wine. Tomorrow, you'll go out on the land and do whatever you need to do to start finding your center again. After that, you can ride with me if you don't want to be alone for a while, or if that brings up too many memories we'll find something else to keep you busy. And as we're doing that it'll start working out, one day at a time."

Diarwen nodded. Betony reminded her of her own Elders, lost to her now; she was grateful in her time of need to have such a friend.

"Do you want something to eat?"

"Maybe later, after I bathe."

When Betony heard the water running, she dug out her cell phone and called Will. She said, hello, how are you, how are Annabelle and Amaranth and Sarah? We're fine. It's cold here.

Then, the preliminaries out of the way, she said, "Will, what the fuck is going on out there?"

"What do you mean?"

"Diarwen just showed up here, and she's a mess."

Her brother blew out his breath in a way she recognized from his teenage years, equal parts frustration and annoyance. "I don't know. She didn't look good when I saw her, but all she told me was that she needed leave and she was going home. She said she needed some time to think. Parker signed off on it. She probably needs some R&R to get over what happened to her. I mean, jeez, she almost died. It was kind of a surprise to Optimus that she left the way she did, but he said they hadn't had a fight. Why, is something else wrong?"

Betony closed her eyes and sought the patience to deal with thick-headed men. "I don't know yet. Everything's all right there?"

"No one's bleeding out, if that's what you mean. Hey, if you find out she's not all right, you call me back, OK?"

Betony made a non-committal noise. Depending on what she learned from Diarwen, she would do that if circumstances required the precise placement of a shoulder-fired rocket: to wit, up a certain Peterbilt's exhaust pipe.

Then again, Betony wasn't sure she wouldn't reserve that privilege for herself.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Optimus had been surprised the night before when Diarwen did not find her way to his quarters after lights out, but he knew that she was very busy and assumed that she was resting in her own quarters. After puttering around his desk for a while, the Prime had gone to his berth for a restless recharge, from which he rebooted earlier than he had intended.

He went back out into his office in order to see if anything needed his attention before joining the rest in circle.

There was a datapad and a small, familiar jewelry box on his desk. He sent the box a glyph to open it, and, as he had feared, found the necklace that he had given Diarwen inside. He hardlined to the tiny datapad and found only one new file.

"Beloved, I am sorry to say this in a letter instead of face to face, but both courage and strength fail me. I love you as I have loved no one else in centuries, as I will never love again though I outlive the world. But I find that I must go before I make things even worse than I already have. May Brigit bless you with every happiness, and I hope that one day you will find it in you to forgive me. Hail, and farewell."

Optimus sank to his desk chair, stunned. He played back memory after memory, trying to determine what it was that he had done wrong. He checked his mail, hoping for more of an explanation, but there was only a short email, copied to the rest of the circle as well, that she would be off base and that they were encouraged to continue the circle without her until she could make other arrangements for them. He also found a note from CMO Parker that Diarwen was on a month's medical leave.

Frightened, he pinged Dr. Parker. After a moment she answered her phone, in the middle of getting herself and Johnny ready to start their day. "Parker!" she barked.

"Dr. Parker, it is Optimus. I have just received your message regarding Diarwen. May I ask what is wrong?"

"If she didn't tell you, I can't either. I can tell you that her physical condition is unchanged over the last few days. I'm not supposed to tell you that I don't expect any other problems, so I haven't told you that, Optimus. Other than that, you need to talk to her."

"I—very well. Thank you, Doctor."

Next, he called Will, who was able only to tell him that Diarwen had requested leave, saying that she needed to think. Then Will paused for a moment, considering. "Optimus, what's going on here? Did you two have a fight?"

"No, we did not," the leader of the Cybertronians said, with enough starch in his voice to frighten anyone but Will Lennox. "I have not seen her since yesterday afternoon. What else did she say?"

"Nothing but that." Will paused, and Optimus could imagine the human running his hand through his already spiky hair. "Look, I don't know. She's been through a lot, maybe she just needs some peace and quiet for a little while. I guess the best thing to do is let her work it out."

"I suppose."

"We'll never understand women, buddy."

Optimus had to agree that such was probably true, and applied to women, femmes, and very likely females of any species. It was not by chance that many Earth animals sought out the other sex only to mate.

It was also true that Lennox did not know just how close Lennox' foster sister had become to Optimus in the past few orn, and therefore could not know how serious Diarwen's departure was. "I will see you in admin later, Will. I am sorry to disturb you."

"No problem."

Optimus subspaced the datapad and the jewelry box.

If he had thought to look at his sword hilt, he would have seen that the protection spell that Diarwen had put in place still remained.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Two weeks' worth of December crawled past. It was mostly quiet, but the holiday spirit began to fall like a blanket of snow: nostalgic, heartwarming, and damned inconvenient if you had to be out in it.

Diarwen followed Betony's advice, and spent a day on the land before beginning to ride along on Betony's daily runs. It was hard at first to spend the day in the cab of a truck, but she forced herself to ignore that for the few moments it took to become obvious that this was in no way Optimus.

One Saturday, Betony got them a gig in town, and she actually found herself laughing a little that night, but most of the time she was aware that Optimus was not parked somewhere nearby, listening to her set on the other end of a phone connection.

After the first couple of days, she cried only in the shower. But she sometimes took two or even three of those a day, using vigorous sword dancing as her excuse.

Back at Mission City, the civilians were busy with the run-up to the holiday season, and an excitement had begun to spread concerning the breakthrough with D'andre Epps. Optimus ascertained for himself that the boy really was beginning to understand Cybertronian, and he made a point of greeting D'andre whenever their paths crossed. D'andre never responded; that had not changed, but a response was not the important thing. Acknowledging a fellow sentient being was.

Sunstreaker was allowed back on duty, as much to preserve Ratchet's sanity as anything else. No one was surprised a few days later to find Skids and Mudflap bound and gagged, covered completely from helm to ped in bubble wrap, hanging from a clifftop by their ankles, and emitting muffled screams. When pulled down and un-bubble wrapped, they were discovered to be coated with honey and crawling with ants.

No one needed to point out that this was very likely identical to what Sunstreaker had suffered.

With very little sympathy, Jolt gave them a drum of cleanser and pointed them toward an outdoor water hose—and told them Primus might help them if they tracked ants into the commons, but he, Jolt, would not.

No one knew how the little twins had been taken from their room, as they were still confined to quarters, then dragged out to the cliff. Optimus might have suspected Jazz of being complicit, but he wondered if that wasn't selling the Big Twins short. In any case, all parties seemed satisfied that justice had been served, and with the guilty parties on the Shit List for Random Ugly Duty, the file was closed

The next night, Jazz said, "They ain't gonna get out of this alive if they don't stop screwing up."

Prowl shrugged, a task made more difficult by the saboteur's presence under one arm. "I can't tell which is less likely."

And that, Jazz mused, was really saying something.

Their HUDs went off at the same time, and Prowl sent the pulse that shut the spy movie off,

The bondmates were "carrying the pager" for the Response Team, another useful concept they'd picked up from the humans, though of course they needed nothing external. They were on their way and in the loop by the time their afts were off the sofa.

They were met by human Response Team members outside the motor pool, who followed them in a Humvee.

An energon detector along the south fence had sounded. The fastest route to the incursion was straight across base to the southernmost place where the paved road from the gate crossed the Proving Grounds. Interstate 95 was just beyond the western boundary of the base, and the alarm itself was located at a spot about halfway between the interstate and the mountain range to the east.

"Middle of nowhere" accurately described it, thought Jazz, as he and Prowl transformed to navigate the basin-and-range landscape. For thousands of years, long-evaporated rivers had carved their way through sandstone, leaving gulches and gullies of varied size and depth etched into rock. The upshot would be that their human counterparts would not be able to keep up with them; he and Prowl would have to carry out the first recon, then come back to get them, most likely.

At base, Condition Yellow was in force. Sleeping children and sparklings were not wakened, but in every quarters, one adult, at least, was up. Gate guards and patrols had been doubled, and would remain so until Optimus, Lennox, Ironhide, Prowl, Graham, Sideswipe, or Jazz gave orders otherwise.

Once he arrived there, a moment ahead of Prowl, Jazz scanned it thoroughly. Deserted.

The energon detector had not been messed with. Standing beside it, Jazz saw the darkness resolve into the tall figure of Ironhide, Lennox perched on his shoulder, coming toward them.

He sent a pulse of recognition, and said in English, "Will. Ironhide. Nobody here now, but there's an energy signature I don't recognize about fifty of my paces that way." He nodded in the direction of the Interstate. "They didn't cross the fence."

He saw both faces change. Ironhide offered a hand down to Lennox, who said, slightly before his boots hit the ground, "So it's proximity, not intrusion, we're dealing with."

"Yeah, but why? Plannin' an attack's the only thing I can think of that might require that. An' with Sounders still out there…" he shrugged. The energon detector gave him a merry beep, and he stepped away. "I'm goin' over there myself. My time as a ghost gimme some ideas about readin' the energy. If I was acquainted with the slagger, I might know who it is."

Lennox nodded, staying back on overwatch while Jazz advanced to the position where he had detected the energy field. The human members of the Response Team arrived at that point, and when Jazz indicated that the area was clear, they climbed over the fence and joined the saboteur. However, the field was now too faint to be identified.

"It was stronger when I got here," Prowl said. "But I don't recognize it either. There's no accompanying human signature."

Lennox sighed, and got on his cell. "McClure, who's OD? Well, wake him up. I want the roads inside the base patrolled at random intervals, nothing longer than 20 minutes, until further notice. Yeah, thanks."

Prowl sent a pulse to Skids and Mudflap. One would go with the first southeast patrol, one with the northwest.

And, until Optimus was informed in the morning, that was that. They saddled up, and went home.

"Most worrying," Optimus said, at the next day's morning meeting. "Reconnaissance can have no purpose beyond attack."

Prowl nodded. "I believe that the current random patrols must be made with personnel from both our species, Colonel. As well, it might be wise to patrol that part of the Interstate which parallels our eastern border."

And there the matter stood. There were no more intrusions.

End Part 5


	6. Chapter 6

(Disclaimers in Part 1)

Two weeks later, Chromia found Ironhide at his workbench, laboring over the autocannon he had in front of him; from the orange paint, one of Sunstreaker's. His conscious focus was completely on recalibrating the targeting system. Several tools were scattered across the bench.

She had learned long ago that when something was on his mind he often let the problem process in the background while he occupied himself with some fiddly job like that. "It's getting late."

"I know. I just got a little more to finish up here."

"What's bothering you, Hide?" Chromia came up beside him and started to dust some metal shavings off the far end of the bench. Ironhide must have had to build new mounts for the gun that Sunstreaker had damaged in his last sparring match.

Hide put down the cannon carefully, so he didn't knock it out of alignment. "It's Optimus. He's getting worse. Hasn't said a word about it but I know."

Chromia leaned into his side for a moment. "You know I figured after we lost Ariel, there'd never be anybot else for him."

"Yeah?" He began methodically to clean and put away his tools.

"Well, there wasn't. But there's some_body, _or I miss my guess. Diarwen."

"Slag it, this _did_ start right after she went back to Maryland." He closed his tool chest, snapped it shut. "Chromia, I think he's giving up."

Her helm shook itself without a conscious decision on her part. "Optimus? There's no way."

Hide turned to face her, took her servos into his own. "I think he feels like he's done what Primus put him here to do, and now there's nothing left for him. He has his duty, so he won't do anything stupid." Unfocused, he stared at the floor for a moment, then raised the intense blue eyes to her. "But...this is all wrong, Mia, and I don't know how to fix it."

"Why did that femme leave?"

"I don't know, but I'll tell you who does. Ratchet."

The bondmates stared at one another for a while, one of them flummoxed into silence and the other enjoying the view. Then Chromia unflummoxed and asked, "What do you mean?"

"I saw her come out of Medbay white as a sheet. You sent me with her when she went out to the proving ground and sword-danced for a couple of hours, but it wasn't—usually it's a dance, and she does it for the sheer joy of pushing herself to her limits. This time—she was fighting some part of herself. I don't know who won, but next morning, she left, and Optimus hasn't been the same since."

Chromia pulled her hands free, got a broom, and began ferociously to herd metal shavings into line. "That figures. Ratchet does some damn-fool thing for somebot's own good, and I end up cleaning up his mess! I swear to Primus!"

"Sweetspark, I just hope this time you can get it sorted."

She pushed the broom into her mate's startled grasp. "Oh, I'll get it sorted, all right."

(Medbay, ten breem later)

"Ratchet, you and I need to have a little talk."

Ratchet's optics dimmed. No discussion with that as Chromia's opening salvo _ever _ended well for the mech she had in her sights. "What's the matter?"

"I want to know what you said to Diarwen the day before she left."

"I don't know what you-"

"DON'T lie to me, Ratchet! She was seen leaving this office in a state. She spent two hours up at the grounds doing forms. Then the next morning she was gone without a word to anybot! Now, I want to know what you said to _my friend, _that ended up breaking _my fosterling's_ spark, and I am not going to ask you again."

At this point her optics were burning white, and Ratchet, feared by Decepticon and convalescent alike, said meekly, "She asked my advice on a personal matter, Chromia, and you know I can't discuss that. It was just…best for her to go home. Best for both of them in the long run."

There was a long, tense silence, in which nothing at all changed except the focus of Chromia's optics, and the length of a few micro-cables around those optics.

Ratchet had seen Chromia look at 'Cons just so, right before her autocannons cut them to pieces. It was easy to forget that she had been Orion Pax' foster mother long before she became one of Optimus Prime's best marksmen.

She was still both those things. "Ratchet, you Pit-be-damned glitched _fool_. Optimus will probably forgive you for hurting him worse than anyone except Sentinel and Megatron ever did, but _I won't. _If you'd ever loved anyone in your misbegotten _life_, you'd know what you've done."

The medic was not one to show fear, but it was there to be seen for those who had the eyes for it. "What are you going to do?"

"Talk to Optimus. It's about time he had the chance to talk to somebot who _just loves him,_ without making judgments or trying to fit him into their idea of who he ought to be. After everything he's sacrificed for all of us, you dare_?_ If you know what's good for you, you'll stay out of my sight for a while, do you hear me?"

"I hear you."

Chromia turned on her monoped wheel and spun away from Ratchet as if electrically repelled by him.

Stay away? Absolutely. For a vorn or two, if need be.

But he would also continue to protect Optimus to the very best of his ability. Yes and yes and yes.

For a smart medic, Ratchet could be surprisingly unaware. He did not recognize the little bump of programming conflict in the warm glow of that thought, but it left him puzzled as to why the idea of protecting Optimus was less than usually satisfying.

A very short and angry time later, the door to Optimus Prime's quarters slid aside, and Chromia found Optimus sitting at the table with a stack of datapads and a small, barely touched cube of high-grade in front of him. He smiled when he saw her, but it didn't quite reach his optics. "Good joor, Chromia. Come sit down. What can I do for you?"

"Nothing. Can't I check on my first fosterling?"

"I would have thought Evanon would occupy all your formidable parental instincts," he said quietly, still with that grin that didn't quite make it as far as his optics. He poured her a cube.

She thought her pump might fracture, that non-smile hurt her so much. But she laughed as he put his big servo on her head. Even sitting down, he towered over her now, but they both remembered when he had been small enough for her to carry around.

She could never have been his mother, not when his markings told the world he was scribe caste, one step below the priests, and her own signaled a mere laborer. But she and Ironhide raised him as their own, nevertheless.

"Oh," she said now, "he was mostly grown when I got him. Not quite so much fun."

"Why did you think you should check on me?" he asked her kindly, turning from the datapads to pay complete attention to her.

She reached over to pat his servo. "Hide was concerned. I realized that you've been keeping yourself so busy for the last orn that I haven't _seen _you enough to get worried about you. What's wrong, Optimus?"

He gave a long vent. "It's Diarwen. She just left, and I don't even know what I did to offend her."

"I don't think you did anything. I _know_ a busybot stuck his wheel in." She saw his attention sharpen. "Do you love that femme?"

Optimus threw down his stylus. "That isn't the point. What can I offer her?"

"A _lifetime_ with someone who loves her the way Ironhide loves me. Everything else is secondary. Didn't you know that?"

He shook his head.

She calmed her field and took his servo into her smaller one. "I'll be the first to admit I don't know how that life is going to shape up, but that's for the two of you to figure out, not anybot else. You've been fighting for all of us all these vorn, when you had to be concerned with others' perception of you because erroneous presentation could cost them their _lives._ Now it's time to stop worrying about what anybot thinks. You've earned this peace, and in it you can decide what _you_ want, Optimus. If you love Diarwen, and you want her in your life, then you go fight for her."

Twenty minutes later, Lennox was in the loop, Ironhide and Prowl were in charge of things at Mission City, and Optimus was on the interstate headed for Maryland.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Washington D.C. rarely got a lot of snow. It was an occasion for epic confusion whenever more than half an inch fell, because nobody knew how to drive in it. Up the Maryland coast, there was just enough to make the little farms and seaside towns look like Christmas cards.

By the time Optimus reached the Lennox farm, it was about eleven at night, but there was a light on in Diarwen's window. He transformed and knocked lightly on the sill.

She pushed the curtain aside, and her face lit up at the sight of him. She pushed the window up, hair hanging long and loose over a blue velvet tunic, silver embroidery picking up its shine. "Optimus!" she said. "what are you doing here? It is the middle of the night!"

"Do you want me to go?"

"No! I should like to avoid waking Betony, though."

"Come with me, then."

"I—oh—let me get my boots and my coat." She put the window down.

She came outside wearing a silvery-gray jacket over her jeans and boots, the blue velvet peeking in and out beneath it, and they went to the barn.

As always, Diarwen was surprised all over again at how quietly such a large mech could move, especially on gravel.

At some distance from the house, he transformed and Diarwen climbed into his cab.

"Optimus, are you all right?"

He huffed a tired-sounding sigh. "I have not been all right since I came out of recharge and found you missing. Will assured me that you were fine, that you just needed time to think. May I ask what it is that troubles you?"

"I found out that you were not entirely truthful with me. A lie of omission is still a lie, even when it is done as a kindness."

"I have not lied and will not lie to you, either by commission or omission."

"You led me to believe that the things we were doing together were as satisfying to you as to me. I now know that cannot have been so. Did you think I would remain forever ignorant of true intimacy among your people once I learned to read and write your language?"

The warm air from his heaters blasted over her at a higher volume for a moment. "It was not a lie of omission. You asked me if you were enough for me. I told you the truth when I said that you were. Enough and more, Diarwen," he said, and his strong voice wavered as she felt tears start from her eyes; he steadied, and continued, "I do not need a hardline connection to know that your love is true, nor a bond to tell me you are always there." His field under her hand changed from trepidation to sadness. "I have lived without those, and will continue to do so with or without you. Must I live without what we can have as well?"

Joy, love, fear, and sorrow all waged war within her heart. "I—did not think of it in that way."

"Come back," he said gently. For all that, there was strength beneath his words. "Come back," he said to her, "if you can. If you cannot, Diarwen, go with my blessing. But please, if you can, come back."

"Are you sure?"

"I have never been more sure of anything."

Diarwen's heart broke and her tears spilled. "I have failed you greatly. In my stupidity and my hurt pride, I ran like a child."

"Because we do not have the convenience of a bond, you must _tell_ me if I have wronged you."

"You have not wronged me. It was I who was in the wrong. From now on when I have a concern, I will bring it to you directly."

"Ratchet," he guessed.

"I believe that the two of us...disgust him. I do not want to be the cause of ill will between you and your people, if they see what we have as some sort of perversion."

"I see it as no one's business but our own, and I mean to tell him that. And not everyone agrees with him. Chromia told me if I want you, to fight for you. I do not see you as a prize to be won, Lady, but if you _wish_ to be fought for then I will let no one come between us."

"I wish to be at your side."

"Then you shall be. If Ratchet has a problem, then let it be his problem. I believe that eventually he will get over it."

"And if he never does?"

"He has that right," Optimus said. "Diarwen, it is true, I have known Ratchet for nearly all my life and I love him dearly. It is not easy to be at odds with him. But in this, he is wrong. I do not think I should speak with him at this moment. I am truly angry with him for going behind my back and putting you through this. I might say things that I would regret—things not easily taken back."

She nodded. "I am sorry, Optimus."

"As am I. From now on, please do not run away without giving me a chance to explain myself."

"I have been too long alone. You will have to be patient while I relearn…many things. Among my people, it was custom for a new couple to wander for a time, for exactly this cause—to keep well-meaning loved ones out of the mix while they learned for themselves what they were to be to one another, and set their boundaries."

"Ratchet has never been one to respect any boundaries, until told plainly to do so."

"I think perhaps I made things worse by staying away from him as a healer."

"You had no choice in that, since so many medicines meant for humans are harmful to you."

She nodded. "I should have _taught_ him that, though. Again, I have been too long alone. It was easier to do for myself than to teach someone else. I only accentuated the differences. I never let him see how much we are the same. People fear that which is Other, and they hate that which they fear. For an old warrior like Ratchet, it is easier to be disgusted than to admit fear exists."

"Yes. But as I said, I believe he will come around in time. We've been cohort for a very long time, through everything the universe could throw at us. It will all work out eventually. In any case, I suspect that Chromia has already had her say."

Diarwen laughed. "Of that, I have no doubt. It is good that there is someone in your life who knows you so well, and whose job is to put your happiness first."

"Stay with me tonight."

"Gladly. Let me unlock the barn."

She shut the barn door behind him. As soon as he came to a stop, the big old tomcat who had ruled the farm for years jumped down from the hayloft to Optimus' hood to say hello. "Mousebane is still going strong. He must be ancient for a cat."

She climbed up to get the cat so that Optimus could transform. "He is Betony's familiar. She said he showed up on the doorstep the night she was born. He will live as long as she does."

"So, he is not really a house cat? What is he?"

"To all intents and purposes, he _is_ a cat—an extremely intelligent, long-lived cat. Familiars are guardian spirits. He has chosen to be reincarnated as a cat to watch over Betony. I do not know why; they must have been close in their last lives. I believe that after Chicago, she will be unable to get him to stay here without her any more. Jaime had better get used to having a cat in the sleeper."

"He owns a Rottweiler."

"I know. That sounds like an interesting combination, though my money is on Mousebane to become the leader of the pack," Diarwen said, and laughed. She told Mousebane, "Would it be too much trouble to go up to the house and sleep on Betony's bed? We would like some privacy, please, and there really is no other place besides the barn."

The cat meowed as if he understood exactly what she had asked of him, then leapt from her arms and sauntered through the cat door.

The barn was hundreds of years old, solidly built of huge ancient oak timbers. To one accustomed to being surrounded by metal, it had been strange at first to enter an organic structure such as this.

The center section between the two lofts was tall enough for Ironhide to stand up without knocking his head on the rafters. Optimus, who was taller, could not stand fully erect, but had room to sit and lie down if he wished. When Will and his family had lived here, he had allowed Ironhide to fix it up to the weapons specialist's convenience.

The Lennoxes built a new stable for the horses, and poured a concrete floor in the old barn.

The space had heaters; Diarwen flipped a switch to turn them on. She said, "I would not blame you if you were angry with me for acting as I did. It was unworthy of either of us."

"Not angry, since I know why you left. If two people are together, there cannot be lies and secrets involved. I wish now that I'd given you more information than I did."

"We have learned," Diarwen said. "I think for a while there will be many such lessons. I will not run away from them again—though I won't promise to keep my temper."

Optimus said, "I would have you no other way." He pulled a small object from his subspace. "Dear one, will you have this back again?"

With shaking hands, she took the necklace out of the gift box and put it back around her neck.

He lay back and held out his servo for her, to raise her to his chest. When they were intimate, she liked to lie where she could feel his sparkbeat and look up to see his optics. There, he could touch her, and when passion robbed him of so much control that he no longer trusted his servos near her even with the safety protocols that he always engaged, she was safe from falling or getting caught in anything if he moved suddenly.

For a long while, they were content just to be together again. A foolish misunderstanding, a well-intentioned idiot's meddling, and the resulting wounded pride might well have cost them everything. After several long nights spent reacquainting themselves with cold, silent solitude, the lesson they had learned best was that they fit together like two puzzle pieces, each no longer complete without the other's presence.

Their fields meshed like sea meeting shore, played off each other like melody and descant. Once more, all was as it should be.

Hours later, they rested together in a warm, half-asleep satiety, safe from the cold within solid walls and from the world outside within the farm's strong wards. For a while there were soft words of love and comfort and reassurance, then as dawn lightened the horizon out over the Atlantic, they rested together, the outer levels of their fields still lightly interlaced.

Betony was surprised to find that she had slept late, but when she found Mousebane curled up atop her, she didn't have any trouble putting two and two together.

They made, as always, four. With a smile, she got up to fix a big farm breakfast: whenever Diarwen did wake up, she was going to be hungry.

Mousebane wove around her feet, meowing loudly until she opened a can of cat food for him.

After a while she heard the barn door rattle open. Presently Diarwen came in. Betony asked, "Did you settle whatever it was?"

"We did."

"High time," Betony said, and smiled. "Breakfast's ready."

-Sidhe Chronicles-

"Ratchet!"

Ratchet sighed, and continued to put his tools away. He knew that vocalizer. "Yes, Chromia."

She arrived next to him. "I have found out what you said to Diarwen."

Ratchet sighed again, and curled his fields away from hers; no need to suffer before his imminent deactivation. "Just a moment, please. I need to make sure that my backup is current, and that my will is up-to-date."

She narrowed her optics up at him. "_You_ think you're being funny. _I_ think that's an accurate prediction."

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Evanon finished his math homework and took it to Chromia to have her look it over. While there, a man in a brown uniform came up to Graham, who was the officer of the day, and gave him an electronic clipboard to sign. In return, Graham took custody of half a truckload of boxes and other mailing containers, which two NEST soldiers took to the mail call locker.

The deliveryman went back outside to his truck and left, exchanging casual greetings with Sideswipe and Flareup on his way out the door. He got into his truck and drove off.

And that gave Evanon an idea.

That evening he and Jason Brierly lay on top of a rock overlook, taking turns surveying Mr. Najantdahl's store through a pair of binoculars. Jason had immediately known what the delivery truck was, and had told him they were everywhere.

They were speaking English today. They took turns with their languages, though Sidhe was much easier for both. Jason said, "It didn't occur to me that he'd probably stop at the store. That was good thinking, Evanon."

"Thank you. The fact remains that it is where the Unseelie came closest to capturing you. Undoubtedly, they are watching."

"Even in broad daylight? There isn't much to hide behind out there."

"I see several places to conceal myself, Jason. I suspect that they are observing the store and the main gate even now. It is where one might most reasonably expect you to leave the base, after all."

"I'll watch for them, too."

"Good luck. The redcaps are probably very bored by now. They may make a mistake so that you spot them. You will not see Morithel."

"You make her sound like some kind of a ninja."

"I have watched martial arts movies in the evenings. That is not far off the mark."

"Wonderful."

"Jason. There is always the option to go to my foster parents for help. I do not believe that Ironhide would allow anyone to simply lock you away."

"Remember I told you that you could get in trouble for helping me?"

"Yes, and I said that it made no difference."

"Well, the thing is, it's a _crime_ to help someone who's breaking the law. It's called being an accessory. I know, I've seen this on Law and Order. If your foster parents help you, even though they didn't have anything to do with my sneaking onto the base, or with you bringing me supplies later, they could get arrested for being an accessory to whatever crimes you committed by helping me."

"Oh. I see. In that case, you are right. We can involve no one else."

"I don't want to involve you."

"I am already involved. For now, what we need is information. We need to know who comes in and out of the base regularly, and when. Also, we need to know what is going on at Mr. Najantdahl's store before and after those times. And anything you do see of Morithel's band will be of vital importance."

"We need a way to distract them long enough for us to jump the fence and get on that truck."

"I will be thinking on that."

-Sidhe Chronicles-

(NEST HQ, a few days later.)

Sam climbed out of Bumblebee's driver's seat so his Guardian could transform and returned Epps' bear hug with a manly back slap. "How's the job search?"

"You are looking at the newest associate at Portman, Bailey and Fitch!" Sam grinned ear to ear. "I wrapped up at Director Mearing's office today, and I start at PB&F on Monday, so I came home for the weekend."

"Congratulations, Sam!" Lennox told him, returning the grin. He closed his laptop and stood to greet their friends properly.

"What's been going on around here?"

"Diarwen came home. Oh, and Ratchet's hiding from Chromia, and nobody knows why," Epps grinned.

Sam shrugged. People often hid from Chromia; Ironhide was scary enough, but his mate was terrifying in a completely different way. Odd, it was, that both should have that power in very different ways, Sam mused; but then, he was too close to Carly to see how it applied to her too….

"So tell us about the new job."

"I'm interning with Dan Bailey. He's one of the biggest Democratic lobbyists on the Hill, and one of our strongest supporters. I'm lucky Director Mearing pointed me his way. I think I'll really be able to do us some good there, no matter which party happens to be in."

Lennox said seriously, "It's the career people that we need to network, Sam. Administrations come and go, but those are the people in the trenches. We need those ties, especially if an administration hostile to us gets voted into office."

Sam nodded seriously. "You know if there's trouble I'm with you all the way, but I think this is where I'm going to do us the most good."

Epps replied just as seriously, "That's the truth, Sam. Anybody can learn to shoot if they got a good enough reason. The other jobs don't get the fame and the glory, but that doesn't change the fact that we need good people doing them."

Sam left the hangars as soon as he could do so politely; he and Bumblebee went to Sam's apartment.

He had called Carly from the airport, so she was watching the street. As soon as Bee pulled up out front, she ran out to meet him. He started to pick her up and swing her around, but then he got a good look and saw how much she was showing now, and got scared to do that, remembering his dream about her fall. Keeping two pairs of feet firmly on the ground, he pulled her close to hug and kiss her.

"God, I missed you!"

"I missed you too, love," she said.

"How have you been?"

"I'm fine. More than fine. I got the latest sonogram pictures today, do you want to see?"

"Yeah, of course!" They went inside, and Sam sent Bee pictures of them.

"Do we know if it's a boy or a girl?"

"Do you want to know?" Carly asked.

"Do you know?"

"Yes."

"Then tell me." He smiled at her, and took her hands.

"We're having a boy."

"A son. We're going to have a son," Sam said. "Carly-"

"It's incredible, yeah? We are going to have a little boy."

Bumblebee ordered Brains and Wheelie to join him. With a lot of complaints, they eventually jumped out the window and ran around the side of the house to climb into his back seat. He took them up to the commons where they could visit with the other bots for a while, and give the newlyweds their privacy.

While he was gone, Sam and Carly decided on a name: Daniel David Martin Bombus Witwicky. The first two middle names were of Sam's grandfathers, and the last one was Latin for "bumblebee."

(End Part 6)


	7. Chapter 7

(Disclaimers in Part 1)

Early Monday morning, Sam was back in DC, having taken a red-eye flight the night before. He still had a grin on his face that any Neanderthal would have understood—he was going to be the father of a son. He'd made a run down to Tranquility to visit his parents early Sunday, and he and his dad had cried for joy in each other's arms.

Of course, his dad had informed him gleefully that he was about to start paying for his raising, which made Sam think about all the dumb stuff he'd done as a kid.

Portman, Bailey and Fitch was a well-established firm, as respected as any lobbying concern ever was. They were a little above used-car salesmen on the trustworthiness scale, but not enough for anyone to start getting cocky.

Sam carried in his large box of office belongings and counted doors. 108, 110—there it was, 112. The door was open a crack. He pushed it the rest of the way with his toe.

"Oh, wow! Here, let me help you with that!" A cheerful female voice called, and his load was lightened by a desk lamp and a laptop computer. Sam set the box on his desk, and caught sight of his office mate, a short, heavy-set young woman with extremely curly red hair, glasses and a wide grin. "Hi! You must be Sam. I'm Abby Fallon."

"Hi, Abby! I'm Sam Witwicky. Great to meet you! It looks like we're going to be sharing an office."

"Looks like. Anything I can do to help you get settled in?"

"Show me the break room? I would kill for a cup of coffee!"

"Sure, we usually have some muffins down there too. I'll bet you came straight from the airport."

"Yes, I did."

The break room was two doors down, across from an alcove containing the copier. Abby made a face at the varnish remover in the coffee pot and quickly started a new one. They got a muffin each and sat down to listen to the coffee maker burble. "They told me I was getting a new partner named Sam, but not much else."

"Well, there's not a lot else to tell. I was with NEST after I graduated, but you know I can't talk about most of that, so...um...not much of an introduction, I guess. I'm from Tranquility, Nevada, married, little boy on the way, and I majored in poli-sci with a minor in economics."

"I'm from Toledo and my family is still there, I'm single, I served two years in the Air Force, then I went to Ohio State. I'm also a poli-sci major, I served a term in Congress, from the Ohio 19th, until I lost my seat in the Tea Party revolt last year, and now here I am. I kinda know who you are, Sam, I remember when the Fallen was after you. I know you've done a lot more for this country than most people will ever know."

Sam said, "Well, I certainly haven't done any more than you did. Thanks for your service."

"It was my honor."

"So…exactly what am I going to be doing?"

"Well, right now, I'm looking into the feasibility of a new clean energy source. A couple of guys out in Silicon Valley have discovered—get this—a way to make cold fusion work."

"Oh, come on, that was snake oil back in the 90s when Fleichmann and Pons tried to convince everyone they'd done it."

"I know, but these guys—Hydronics, they're calling their company—have a working prototype. I've seen it in operation. Look, the process emits a small amount of radioactive gas, which is very easy to capture, though as I understand it that has industrial uses as well. Other than that the only by-product is water. The oil companies are going berserk. My job—now our job—is to get these guys a grant so that they can built a larger-scale prototype. It's really a matter of expediting the paperwork. I'm pretty sure they're going to end up at MIT. If this works out, it's going to be _huge."_

"Gee. I don't think MIT would be making interested noises if there weren't really something there," Sam had to admit.

They took coffee and muffins back to their office. Abby helped Sam get moved in and set up his account on the firm's computer system, and then they spent the hour before lunch going over the Hydronics files.

Sam had lunch with Charlotte Mearing, to thank her for getting him the position and let her know how he was getting along there. That afternoon, he was kept busy filling out a lot of paperwork for human resources, in return for which he was presented with his ID tag.

The photo ID badge, which would admit him to the congressional offices where he would be doing a lot of his work.

After work, he went to the gym for a couple of hours where he pedaled a stationary bike and watched the news. Then he went to his small apartment, where he watered his plants, settled down with a salami sandwich to call Carly, watched a little TV, and read the _Washington Post_ before going to bed.

Bumblebee called to tell him that he had been delayed by road construction, but he expected to be back in DC the next day. After they chatted for a little while, Sam put his phone on the charger and went to bed feeling that his first day on the new job had gone well, all things considered.

About two o'clock in the morning, he woke up from a nightmare in which the lab building where Hydronics had built their new prototype, as well as a large section of the MIT campus, was now a smoking crater. Having been in Chicago, he didn't have to hear the screams to know how many people would have been killed in an explosion like that.

He'd had enough of these dreams now to know the difference between the ones caused by eating salami at bedtime, and the ones he needed to pay attention to. This was one of the latter.

On his second day on the job, there was no way Sam could go up to Mr. Portman and tell him they needed to bail out of the Hydronics deal because the new kid had a bad dream about it. He needed proof that the process was dangerous. And he had to get it before a bunch of people got killed.

So much for sleep. He got up and put on his track suit and sneakers, and jogged down the hall to the stairwell. A few trips from the roof to the basement and back would help him think.

By the time his legs were burning and he didn't think he could climb one more step, he realized that he was going to need help from the Autobots to get to the bottom of this. A hot shower and a bagel later, he met Bee in the parking garage and hurriedly got in as soon as his brother opened the door.

"Bee, can you get Que for me?"

Bee clicked an affirmative and made the call.

Even though it was still first joor in Mission City, Que was already at his workbench. "Bumblebee! Good joor!"

"Good joor, craftmaster. Sam wishes to talk to you, if you have time."

"Of course I do." Que switched to English. "How can I help you, Sam?"

Sam described the situation with Hydronics. "I have a bad feeling about this, Que. I think it's some kind of a scam, possibly a dangerous one, but I'm not sure how to prove it."

"Well, the easiest way would be for me to go out there and check it out. I can find out a great deal simply by scanning it from the street. Could you send me the address and a description of this prototype?"

The address in San Jose was online—Hydronics was looking for money after all—and Sam told Que what he knew about the prototype. Que said that he would take a ride to California and see what he could find out, and then get back to Sam that evening.

Que's report was the snowflake that began an avalanche of activity. The FBI conducted a swift, intense investigation, at the end of which they made a number of arrests. Both NEST and the CIA wanted very much to talk to the detainees.

Que's scans revealed the presence of very small amounts of Cybertronian fuel substances in the company's cold fusion reactor. The engineers at Hydronics did not know it was Cybertronian, but they did know that the material had been acquired illegally from a Russian arms dealer. This dealer had gotten it from a greedy worker at Chernobyl, who had stolen it while the former Soviets were experimenting there with a power core that one of their unmanned lunar expeditions had recovered from the _Ark_.

One of those experiments gone wrong had damaged conventional nuclear reactors there, resulting in the 1986 disaster.

Que was able to confirm that a larger prototype would have been very dangerous, because that material required careful handling. Under a constant load, it became unstable. The Cybertronians were aware of this, and their designs cycled power to the core, thirty seconds on, thirty seconds off. The Soviet scientists had lacked the knowledge of this necessity, leading to the explosion.

The material was seized and returned to the Cybertronians, and Sam was responsible for keeping his company, and the administration, from getting involved in a scandal at best and a disaster resulting in a horrendous loss of life at worst.

He managed to avoid mention of his precognitive dream by saying that cold fusion was known to be a hoax and that anything that sounded too good to be true probably was. He treated it as unsurprising that, when in need of a scientist's expertise, he turned to the one he knew. Sam claimed that it was just lucky for everyone that his scientist friend had been able to sniff out the presence of the alien fuel.

It scared him. He remembered very well what it had felt like when the All-Spark energy had started to take him over. He'd had a meltdown in class and it had been months before his professors had stopped looking at him like he was a bomb about to go off. He hoped this wasn't a sign of something similar, something beyond his control that would end with him in a nice peaceful little room somewhere.

The senior partners, knowing nothing about that, were very pleased with him. They rewarded him with a generous Christmas bonus, and a couple days off to go home and see his pregnant wife again. He would be expected back in Washington that Friday, the sixteenth of December, to start his next assignment.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Frank Hastings got off a private jet in Las Vegas and put on a well-worn pair of Ray-bans. Lowell Zain met him at the bottom of the ramp.

"What's the latest on Pierpoint?"

"He's calmed down, sir. It wasn't like we could sedate him in his, uh, current condition. But once we got him away from his old body and let him figure out he was still, you know, there—he's a little better. Had to be a hell of a shock."

"Yeah. Did they post-mortem the remains? Same deal as the ones from Oregon?"

"No, sir, not at all. There was no brain damage like those poor bastards had. The doctor said he died of coronary arrest."

"That means his heart stopped. That's what they put when they don't know _why_ it stopped!"

"Yes, sir. So far, there's no medical reason. There are still some tests out, but what are they going to find? Whatever makes Pierpoint alive moved into that robot body. You can't stick that in a test tube."

Hastings agreed. He had always been one to look the truth right in the eye, and spit in it on occasion, but he wouldn't avoid that truth because it wasn't the one he wanted to see. It meant those things really were alive.

Anything that was alive could die, and he meant to see all of the Cybertronians responsible for the deaths of his wife and son dead. As for the others, though—maybe he couldn't lump them all together like he had been doing. Still, if they were here, they needed to be under government control. He didn't see why they should get more privileges than any other refugees. And if they decided they wanted more than their hosts were willing to give, they could become a problem real fast. Whether or not they were "real people," whatever the hell that meant, didn't change the fact that the US needed better ways to deal with them.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

The next day the office closed at noon, something to do with a failing server, Sam was told. He had no meetings, so he loaded up his laptop at 11:45 and went to a grocery store, intending to see if he could re-create a Thai dish he had liked at a lunch earlier that week.

Sam, researching, realized that soy and fish sauce were indispensable, and during his commute made up a list of vegetables and other spices that would serve for both Mexican and oriental recipes. (The classic French and German cooking he'd try later, if this proved to be something he could master.)

He had rice. It took two trips to get the rest, and some convenience food (tomato soup, American cheese, white bread, soda).

Grazing in a more-or-less random fashion, and making the second trip, took him quite a while. By the time he got home, he needed a cheese sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup just to keep body and soul roughly in the same room, let alone together. He added an apple to his meal, fetched the grapefruit soda out of the freezer he'd stuck that single can into, ingested about a third of it in a single gulp, and began to feel slightly more like a human being.

Sam was drawing up a timeline for the production of Thai pineapple fried rice— one of the hazards of acquiring a Harvard education is that the sufferer begins to think this way—when his cell went off. "Sam here," he said, not looking at the number as he carefully measured chopped cilantro.

"Optimus, Sam," said that deep warm voice he knew so well. "You asked me to call you. Have I done so at a bad time?"

"Optimus, it's never a bad time for your calls." Sam measured cumin, which was much easier, and temporarily ceased pre-production of the dish. He parked one skinny butt cheek against the kitchen counter and said, "I wanted to talk to you about a precognitive dream I had. Do you have a couple of minutes?"

"Sam, I have as much time as you need, always."

A warm glow originated from somewhere, and settled in Sam's chest. "Thank you. You know that I asked Que for help."

"He and I were glad to give it. I was also quite amused when your firm queried the consultant's fee – it was not too high, they said, but too low. I quadrupled it. They were happy with that."

"Optimus, I am totally shocked. You're cultivating a head for business." Sam tucked the phone into his shoulder, and went to town on some onions, then gave several cloves of garlic the what-for.

"Not precisely. It is only another form of tactics, after all." And he would not tell Sam that ten percent had been used to set up a college fund for one Daniel David Martin Bombus Witwicky, yet to be born, as Sam could not ethically accept a "finder's fee." Ten percent of an obscene amount of money was still a nice chunk of change, as Lennox sometimes put it.

"Yeah...well, I asked Que for help because I had a dream that told me pretty sharply to do that."

"Yes. You and I sometimes share a dream, and I was there with you."

"You…were?"

"Yes. You were where we sometimes meet, in that liminal area closest to the Well of All Sparks where one can be and return alive."

"Optimus, if we share dreams, how come I didn't see you when I dreamed?"

"I do not have an answer to that, Sam. I believe that I am oftener conscious of you than you of me simply because I have been a Prime for several hundreds of your generations, and some small part of me is always in that place."

"Oh. Makes sense."

"Sam, there is something else."

"Oh, God. Lemme sit down, Optimus."

"Sam, are you all right?"

"Yes. I've been chopping garlic, though, and when your voice does what it just did, I can't use an edged blade and talk to you at the same time. I'll lose a thumb."

"Sam, we share a bond."

"Yes."

There was a long silence from Optimus. "You knew?"

"No, but I've thought that might be true for a while now. Didn't know how to bring it up, though." Sam smiled, and let Optimus hear that in his voice. "'Excuse me, Optimus, but do we share a bond?' Maybe you can find a way to begin that conversation that works better. I never did."

"And now we do not need to. Do you wonder why we have such a bond?"

"No. My capacity for wonder got permanently burned out somewhere between the moment Bee first saved my life and, say, twenty-two seconds later."

Optimus made a noise that Sam had no trouble interpreting as a stifled snort of laughter. Sam also wished he'd washed his garlicky hands before coming over here, and didn't touch the couch as he pivoted on his butt to lie along it.

"My best guess," Optimus continued, "is that your long and faithful caretaking of the All-Spark, coupled with your selfless sacrifice in Egypt, led Primus to consider you worthy of the gift of precognitive dreaming. As for the bond between us, Sam, the presence of the All-Spark changes one. Most of the training I received to be a Prime taught me how to remain who I am in its presence by erecting a barrier between an entity more powerful than any living creature and myself. The All-Spark rather ruthlessly grants, or perhaps I should say imposes, exceptional abilities in many areas of endeavor. Every person who has been touched by the All-Spark is…united…in some way to all the others, dead or alive. As that has happened to both of us, and you lacked the training necessary to put up a barrier, a bond formed between us."

There was a considerable silence from the garlic-scented Sam Witwicky. "But…I'm human."

Optimus' smile was audible again. "Either there is far less distinction between our varieties of spark than one might think, or Primus, your God, and the All-Spark among them have a formidable sense of humor. Or perhaps both of the above."

Despite himself, Sam laughed. Sort of. "Optimus, I have to think about this."

"Certainly. I hope, though, that if things seem strange, or strained, or uncomfortable in any way, you will speak to me. And both Adele Hempstead and Diarwen ni Gilthanel, who have precognitive experiences of their own, might be of more help to you than I was today."

"I'll think about that. I'll probably talk to you, though."

"Thank you, Sam. But do not rule speaking with Diarwen and Adele out. For one thing, one is human. For another, they can give you the organic's perspective on managing your gifts. I cannot begin to."

"Well," said Sam, sitting up using only his belly muscles, "you could probably begin, but it might be a short lesson."

Optimus himself laughed. "Yes. But the that's not one of the lessons which are best neither long nor convoluted."

Sam laughed. "Like Skids and Mudflap's?"

"That was less convoluted than entirely justified. Sam, are you going to be all right?"

"Oh sure. Thanks for your time, Optimus."

"You are welcome. See you soon."

Four days, and counting, until his bond-brother was here. Optimus disconnected, and stared out his office window at gray skies.

He had not told Sam everything, but Sam needed time to assimilate what he had been told. And there was the crucial piece of knowledge he hadn't shared.

Hadn't shared, and wouldn't share, not until he had a better grasp on what it might mean to Sam, and those around him.

The entire misunderstanding with Diarwen, though, was still fresh in his memory, and painful. That whole situation had resulted from a lack of needed information, though he truly had not considered the information he had withheld from her relevant to their situation.

In this case, he was deliberately not telling Sam everything.

It all came down to whether telling all he knew was more likely to help or harm, and in this case, he simply did not know yet. Therefore, he would wait, and allow Sam time to deal with what he had learned today. After that, he would re-evaluate the probability of good or harm.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Diarwen awakened early on Sunday morning, shivering. It was five o'clock in the morning. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she gathered clothes for the day and parked them on the chair by the bathroom door while she investigated the possibility of breakfast.

Only a stale muffin with her tea was, in fact, possible. As she poured the remainder of the pot into a Thermos to take with her, she made a note to make time today to go into town and restock the kitchenette. Kaela was almost never here any more. She had yet to officially move her things to Chip's quarters, but Diarwen doubted it would be long before they took that step. That made it easier for Diarwen to come and go without being noticed, convenient as long as she and Optimus chose to remain discreet about the particulars of their relationship.

Diarwen was certain that Ironhide and Chromia knew, as though they had said nothing directly to her about it she was beginning to pick up small differences in private such as Cybertronian pronouns that indicated "cohort" rather than "close friend." But no one outside the immediate family seemed to have a clue, and for the present it seemed wise to keep it that way. The constant confusion involving celebrities and paparazzi alone was enough to convince them to "fly under the radar," as the NEST soldiers put it. When the time came, they would tell those who had need to know.

She smiled. For now, it was rather fun to have a secret, and Optimus had little opportunity for plain, old-fashioned fun.

As she left the apartment, she chose her warmest jacket. The air coming around the kitchen window had felt positively frigid, and it was all the more shivery since everyone at the base had grown accustomed to the warm climate. She took extra care with her morning stretches, since it would be far easier to pull a muscle in the cold.

She was first to arrive at Buzzard Rock. Jazz had brought a few solar panels some days previously, and wired them up to a battery bank and a big electric shop heater, adding some lights as well. She got those going to make things a little more comfortable for her circle, because today was to be a discussion day: they would not be doing anything to keep warm.

Chip, Kaela, and Jack were the first to arrive, followed by Evanon, then Jazz and Prowl, and finally Optimus, who had been delayed by an early morning memo kerfuffle in Admin: a report which he had not known about but was _desperately_ needed by 0800 the next morning.

It was good to be able to put all that into a background queue and relax for an hour a day, even if that hour did have to be stolen while sensible mecha were still in recharge.

He transformed and sat where he would block some of the wind, but close enough to enjoy the heater.

Chip rolled his exercise chair close to it, stripped off his gloves, and warmed his hands. "Feels like Christmas out here."

Prowl said, "I do not understand."

"My culture celebrates a holiday called Christmas, which started out in the history of my religion as the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ. Christ's Mass, see?"

Confusion continued to cover Prowl's faceplates until Diarwen said, "A Mass, Prowl, is a Catholic Christian ritual. Over time it came to be used as a term for any celebration." She nodded at Chip to continue.

"A lot of American culture was imported from Germany, a country in Europe, where it was usually cold and snowy during that time, so we associate Christmas with cold, snowy weather. You'll hear a song, 'I'll be Home for Christmas,' over and over again this time of year, because it's about someone in a place like this where there isn't a lot of snow thinking about Christmas back home."

"I still do not—what do European customs have to do with a religion which arose in the Middle East?"

Jazz said, "Near as I can tell, when Christianity spread into Europe, the Christians adopted a lot of the local customs. They changed their meanings, though, to make sense with what they believed."

Diarwen said, "That is correct, Jazz. Christianity and the Old Religions coexisted in Europe for hundreds of years. That is many human generations. As in my faith, most of those European cultures had a midwinter festival at Yule, which is the Winter solstice, and the holiday which I celebrate. Yule is the longest night. After that, the days begin to grow longer again. We celebrate this as the night that the Great Mother gives birth to the young Sun God.

"It is unlikely that Christ was actually born on December 25th, for the Bible says that at the time of His birth, shepherds were in the fields with their flocks. That would have been in spring, when lambs are born. But since the early Christians did not record exactly when He was born, when the Church moved into Europe and saw the local people celebrating a winter festival to welcome back the newborn God, it was easy enough for them to set His feast day near, but not on, Yule, and adopt the festival as their own. Such traditions as the Yule log and the Christmas tree were brought over from pagan practices."

Chip's eyebrows came down, and he snapped, "Now wait a minute!"

"I was there when this was happening, Chip, but you may certainly research the point if you wish to confirm what I have said. In fact, there are churches who do not allow these customs due to their association with pagan faiths. If they celebrate Christmas at all, it is solely as a religious observance of Jesus' birth. But, from my point of view, the meaning of those customs was changed radically enough when they were imported into Christianity that they are no longer at all pagan."

"Oh," Chip said. He didn't sound very convinced.

Diarwen went on, "The concept of reincarnation, so important to my religious observance, was never involved in the miracle of a maiden giving birth to the Son of God. Evergreen boughs to Christians represent eternal life in Heaven, rather than honoring the Holly King, who like we Sidhe, is reborn right here."

She was diplomatic about that. She believed that most humans were also reincarnated, just as Sidhe and Cybertronians were, but knew that Chip, and possibly the other humans as well, might take issue with that idea. "Yet, all of us, no matter what faith, see this time of year as symbolic of peace and renewed hope."

Chip had little to say to that, but all the Cybertronians read his fields as ruffled and agitated. Undoubtedly, once he returned to the base, he would be on the computer looking for more information, but for now, there was no use being argumentative for its own sake.

Which was a change the old Chip Chase would never have admitted was possible.

Prowl said, "The orbit of a planet around its star is based on principles of physics, not the actions of deities. How is it that the solstices and equinoxes are of interest to anyone except scientists and stargazers?"

"Prowl, think of what it was like for the ancestors—mine, Chip's, Mikaela's, Jack's—who had not yet developed mathematics, and did not have the sensory equipment to observe the orbit of a planet around its star, Indeed, for many millennia humans believed what their eyes seemed to tell them: that the sun orbited the earth."

There was a small but intense silence among the Cybertronians. As fish cannot conceive a life out of water, they had never realized that humans' senses could lie to them. Their own did not; if they did , error messages and a fall into Ratchet's not-untender mercies resulted.

Diarwen continued, "The ancestors had no way of knowing that summer would return. Indeed, when I was a child, most of Europe was still locked in the grip of glaciers. Winter was difficult for everyone, but it was dreadfully harsh for the northern humans and the Neanderthals. Remember, they did not have the technological marvels which exist today: no electricity, no warm, solid houses, no way to preserve food over the winter. And few of them had access to the elemental powers of my folk, which serve us as well as technology. But they were very, very observant. It did not take them long to mark the cross-quarter days. To the shamans and the wise folk, the winter solstice was evidence that winter would not last forever—that the Mother had not abandoned them to freeze in the darkness.

" And after Yule comes Imbolc, mating season for many creatures, and the first inevitable stirrings of spring are visible to those who are looking for them. After Yule, the religious leaders observed the lengthening of the days, and could reassure those who did not have the senses necessary to feel it for themselves that the land was only sleeping, not dead, and would awaken in due time. Also, for those further south who were subsistence farmers, midwinter offered a space of comparatively free time. The herds had been culled at Samhain, and the last harvest had been brought in. The people had time for a celebration, and need of one, in those cold dark days. And, it would seem from the universal popularity of all the holidays, it is a need that we still share today, although our lives now are so much easier."

"And," Prowl said, "although you now understand the turning of the seasons."

Diarwen smiled at him. "Understanding the reason behind a phenomenon need not rob it of its wonder, Prowl."

Chip's face lightened a bit, and his shoulders relaxed.

End Part 7


	8. Chapter 8

(Disclaimers in Part 1)

After a few days' observation, Jason had determined that the delivery truck driver only stopped at the store every other trip or so. He and Evanon decided that wasn't reliable enough to try sneaking out of the base on foot. Instead, they were going to have to get onto the truck while it was on base.

The boys knew they were only going to get one attempt. They needed the delivery truck to stop for a moment, around the curve of the hillside from the proving ground so that no one there would see anything. And the reason for the stop couldn't be anything suspicious enough to have the delivery driver call it in.

Sunday evening, Jason came up with the idea to put a big sheet of plastic in the road, bunched up so the driver would not be able to tell exactly what it was. Unlike a cardboard box or a big bag, no one would suspect that a large sheet of plastic might contain a roadside bomb. But no one would want it to blow across their windshield, either. When the driver got out of the truck, they meant to jump in—with the help of a little magical misdirection from Evanon.

Jason suggested that Monday would be a good day, since no one was at their best on Monday morning.

Evanon had worked ahead on his English assignment Sunday evening so that he could finish his work early the next day.

He pasted on a smile until after Chromia and Ironhide left the apartment for their day's work, then put his few belongings into his backpack. Even if he survived the day, which seemed unlikely, he doubted that they would want him back after having deceived them. He took a long last look around the apartment, the scene of some of his happiest moments, then went out into the commons.

The littles were watching Sesame Street. He took a moment to visit with them, giving no indication that this was a goodbye. He passed Diarwen with a cheerful, "Fair day, milady!"

"Fair day to you as well, Evanon!" she smiled.

Evanon began his customary run out to the proving grounds. A few he passed along the way waved a warm, friendly greeting, but no one paid any real attention to him. He was just one of the kids. They had no idea what a precious gift such acceptance was to a former slave.

It was little trouble to grab a large sheet of plastic from a dumpster near the proving grounds. A lot of deliveries came wrapped in it, and it was kept here until it could be taken away and recycled. He chose a good sized one, and bundled it up under his arm as he began the climb up to Jason's hideout.

He found the young Sidhe testing his injured ankle. It was better, but still sore and prone to giving out on him. Evanon taped it, then tightly laced his boot for him to support the joint.

"I found a rather large piece of plastic in the dumpster."

"Yes, that's a great size. I found us a good place to hide while we wait for the truck."

That place turned out to be a crevice behind a large rock which had years ago split off from the cliff. There was just room back there, only an arm's length from the edge of the road. They waited until the delivery truck went past, then Evanon darted out to put the plastic in the road.

There was an unexpected complication when Flareup went past and stopped to toss the obstruction off the road.

Once she had gone, they reset their trap, counting themselves lucky that she hadn't simply subspaced the plastic to throw away later.

The very next vehicle past was the delivery truck. As soon as it rolled to a stop and the driver got out, Evanon cast a misdirection charm, then he and Jason hurried aboard.

They wormed their way through the stack of boxes and parcels, and hid in the back of the truck, just in time before the driver climbed back in and stepped on the gas.

He didn't stop at Mr. Najantdahl's store this morning. Instead, he drove on into Tranquility.

His first stop was at a house on a street of similar houses, of the two kids, SUV, picket fence, and dog variety. Peering out of the windshield from the door between cab and cargo area, the boys saw that there were too many people out in their yards for them to try getting off the truck there.

After that, the truck pulled up behind a strip mall. A fence separated the alley behind the mall from a railroad track. Evanon and Jason stealth-disembarked, and looked around for a place to hide, which turned out to be behind a parked car.

Evanon asked, "What do we do now? Do you think there is one of your pay phones in this mall?"

"Maybe. Let's go around front and find out."

The two boys walked down the alley to the end of the strip mall, where they gave a smelly dumpster a wide berth and followed a short alleyway to the front of the stores.

There was a cash advance place, a dollar store, a laundromat, and a rent-to-own place, but not a pay phone. Jason said, "Let's ask in the laundromat. Someone in there might know where to find one."

A very young woman balancing a huge laundry bag and a baby carrier pushed the door open with her hip. Tied to her wrist was the leash of a toddler harness. At the other end of this was a tiny boy, new to this whole walking thing, who thought it was fun to try to go the other way, back into the laundromat. The bag teetered.

"Alvin! Come on, this stuff's heavy!"

Jason got the door for her. "May I help you with that?"

"No, I got it now, thanks."

"Say, you wouldn't happen to know where there's a pay phone around here, would you?"

"Two blocks up, there's a gas station that has one," she replied.

"Thanks."

The young mother headed in the opposite direction from where she had indicated the pay phone was located. Evanon and Jason passed the strip mall and a block of apartments with a lot of suspicious-looking people hanging around outside.

One of several young men hanging around a rusty Ford looked them over. "You boys look lost."

"Umm, yeah, the bus driver thought we were causing trouble and kicked us off back there," Jason explained vaguely. Beside him Evanon prepared himself for a fight.

But Jason's explanation saved the day. The men hooted with laughter. "Hope y'all got good walkin' shoes on, now!"

"Yeah, uh, me too," Jason said.

Laughter followed them up the street, but they kept walking, and soon found the gas station with its pay phone.

Jason dropped in quarters and waited while it rang, twice, three times. Then his mom grabbed the phone. "Hello, Brierly residence!"

"Mom? It's Jason."

"Jason?! Are you all right? Where are you?"

"I'm fine. I'm in this little Podunk town outside Las Vegas called Tranquility. Mom, come get me, I want to go home!"

"OK. I'll get your father from work and we'll be on a plane out there as soon as we can. Where are you now? Are you safe?"

"I—I don't know. I'm at a pay phone. I think it's OK."

"I want you to go to the closest police station and stay there until I can come and get you."

"I can't, they'll arrest me, because I can't explain how I got here or anything! I don't even have any ID."

"OK. Have you got somewhere safe to stay until I can get there?"

"Not right now but I'll find somewhere. I don't know where anything is in this town, but I'm outside a gas station. I'll ask in there if there's anywhere. Maybe a mall or something."

"All right. Tell me when you find somewhere. If you try to call my cell and I don't answer, then you'll know we're on the plane. Try again every hour or so until you get me again."

"OK, Mom. I'm OK, don't wreck getting here."

"I'll see you tonight, Jase. I love you."

"I love you too, Mom."

He hung up the phone, then the two of them went into the gas station. To an old man behind the counter, Jason spun a tale of getting on the wrong bus, and having to wait until their mom could get off work to come and get them.

"I don't know," said the old grouch, "does it look like I'm running a nursery here?"

"No, sir, I just thought you might know someplace safe for my brother and me to wait for Mom."

"Well, if you keep going about a mile down this street, there's a library. You could wait in there, until they close anyway."

"Thank you. That sounds like a good idea, actually," Evanon said.

"Yeah, thanks. Can I have two bottles of water and two bags of chips, please? Those baked ones, sour cream and onion for me."

Evanon nodded that he would have the same. They started hiking, fortifying themselves with their snacks.

Evanon felt a chill. "Oh, no. Jason, someone just scanned for us. _Run."_

Neither boy hesitated to launch into a sprint. After half a block, Jason's ankle was throbbing. Walking on it was bad enough, but running—that it had not fully healed became very clear.

They were making for the library, but Evanon risked looking behind him, caught a glimpse of a redcap a half-block away and closing fast: the library sat like the Summerlands, out of reach, blocks away. They weren't going to get that far.

The only possible shelter in this block was a thrift store on the other side of the street. The businesses that had opened on this side were two pawnshops and a bar, none of which were likely to look kindly on the intrusion of two fourteen-year-olds.

They raced across the street, causing one large delivery van driver to step on his brakes so hard the nose of the vehicle dipped, and swear at them, shouting a curse. Evanon blocked that curse without much thinking about—a curse was still a curse, after all—as they made the thrift store.

The place was full of women and kids doing Christmas shopping.

"We can't stay here!" Jason spoke loudly enough to be heard over a baby who had been shopping too long.

Evanon spotted a set of double doors marked "Staff only."

"This way!" he cried, and they hared off in that direction just as the redcaps made the front door.

Glamoured, they looked like nothing other than a trio of rather unpleasant men. They crowded their way past the other shoppers, using their elbows, and the one-in-ninety among the humans who had the Sight all edged away from them without asking themselves why.

The one-in-three-hundred who actually understood what her Sight was telling her collected her children more closely and abandoned her half-full shopping cart.

Behind the double doors was a strong laundry smell, and racks of clean clothes, with stacks and bales of others waiting to be washed. A bank of industrial washers and dryers almost filled the long, narrow room. A few workers, some of them wearing the orange jumpsuits of the county jail, shouted at them to get out.

Jason grabbed the arm of one prisoner. "Where's the fuckin' back door?"

The fear in his eyes convinced the man this was no mere boys' prank. He pointed, "Loading dock."

When, a few minutes later, three big burly guys carrying swords came barreling through after them, the last one in line suddenly found himself head first in a washing machine with several large orange-clad men holding him under water. The only thing he heard when they hauled him out was, "We don't _like_ sons of bitches who pick on little boys!" Then something whacked him over the head and everything went black.

Jason and Evanon's pursuers were now down to three, as the Lady Morithel met her redcaps at the loading dock, but the boys, by then, were nowhere to be seen.

"Where are they?" she snapped. "Have you harmed them? Where's Dinjobi?"

The leader knelt, and his henchman hastily followed suit. "We were closing on them, Lady, but…"

Morithel was not in the habit of beating her servants, but redcaps required a certain amount of physical punishment to ensure that their laziness, except in matters of the hunt, did not overcome their common sense.

They had no sense of duty. None at all.

She gritted out between clenched teeth, "Once we are back, we will discuss this carelessness of yours at length."

The kneeling redcap cowered. The henchman said, "Lady. There is movement, there."

He pointed at the back of a—wagon? It seemed to be such, though these humans had found a way to dispense with the horse—filled with cardboard boxes, which moved slightly in a way that loose material in the back of a wagon should not.

Morithel's mouth thinned. "Very well. Your luck in seeing that is all that has saved you from sharing this one's punishment. Arrange to be lucky in the future by remaining observant. The both of you, come."

The late-afternoon traffic was by this time at its height, and even in so small a place as Tranquility, the roads were clogged.

The Sidhe found that the horseless wagon could go faster than she and her redcaps could run, but the strange lights at every corner sometimes stopped it. They almost caught it a few times, but the lights set it free to move again, snatching their prey from them.

The rush hour meant that the sidewalks were equally crowded. The throng Morithel and her posse pushed their way through was numerous enough to contain two or three who could see through glamours. Those two or three made phone calls to 911 concerning people with swords. Not long after, police sirens began to wail.

The next time the truck stopped, it was held in place by the lights long enough for Morithel to make a try for it. She had not had enough exposure to this time in this world, though, to accurately judge time and distance in regard to speeding horseless wagons. The breed of such known as "taxi" came very close to clipping her, with accompanying horn-blast, as she attempted to get to the truck.

The smarter redcap of the two yanked his fellow back by the collar just as she sprang back to the curb.

Evanon was not truly Sidhe, of course, but the training he had received in Underhill let him know exactly where their pursuers were: uncomfortably close, at the moment.

Jason had observed that in Tranquility, rush-hour traffic meant that the roads were mostly crowded one-way. So when Evanon said, "They know where we are, and they will find us soon," it was the most natural thing in the world for Jason to reply, "Then let's get out. Let's not wait for them to catch us."

They waited for traffic, and reached the other sidewalk just as Morithel and her band reached the truck (which promptly pulled away, the light having turned green).

They ran at Jason's top speed, which meant that their pursuers gained on them far too quickly.

The police station had seemed like a bad idea earlier, but now they would have been overjoyed to see it. Where's a cop when you need one?

Nothing was handy except a car wash. They barged through, getting soaked and soapy, and dodging brushes and spray nozzles.

Morithel signaled the redcaps to go one way around the building while she went the other. Evanon, sensing this, stopped so abruptly he would later find he had bruised his toes, and dragged Jason back the other way, through the car wash again, and once more in the direction of the thrift store.

Jason's ankle…Evanon saw a building supply lot, pointed at it, and they changed course.

They were slowed by having to climb the fence, but Morithel and her little friends would be also.

Huge blocks of cement, far too heavy for anything but a forklift, lined the wall next to the building itself. Banded stacks of bricks lay to the boys' left, a six-foot stack of steel mats to their right, freshly-made mats covered the rust-coated bottom layers. Jason moved away from it, flinching. Evanon's eyes lit, and he jerked his head toward the stacks of lumber to their right, a stack of drywall offcuts and a barrel of copper pipe cuts in front of it, and Jason nodded, taking cover among the size-sorted piles of sweet-scented curing wood. He ended by rolling under the largest stack, placing himself so that he could watch for feet from three sides. The fourth was the fence.

He knew he was taking a chance that their pursuer couldn't sense him magically. But the fence was steel, and he was gambling that it had enough iron in it to prevent that.

Evanon, meanwhile, waited at the far side of the steel mats, just beyond the stacks of bricks and thus out of sight of the fence, with his heart in his mouth and his sword by his side. He would not draw it against his Lady unless no other choice presented itself, but draw it he would to protect his foster-brother.

The fence rang. The redcaps, muscular beyond human strength, made it over the fence in a bound up as high as they could reach, and a vault over the two feet remaining.

"Hi, you! Toss me your shirt!" Morithel's voice rang out, and one of the redcaps must have obliged, for shortly there were more noises of fence-climbing. Just as they ended, Evanon showed himself on the other side of the mats, sword drawn.

Morithel eyed him sourly. "You have kept me away from my target long enough to truly annoy me, boy," she said. "Do not try me further with a drawn sword and a clumsy iron trap."

"I regret the necessity, Lady Morithel. But I have come to like my changeling, and you take Jason back to his death. Knew you not that his servitor and assigned guardian, that Arithor, trysts with the eldest among his cousins?"

"That I did not. But Evanon, now you have presented me with that knowledge, you know that I can and will protect him. And this I will do, for you. Will you return with us, and stand his champion among Underhill to help us both?"

"Lady Morithel, he does not wish to return, and he is my foster-brother, of a sort."

Morithel drew her sword. Evanon was astonished to see tears starting from her eyes as she said, "Please, Evanon, I beg of you, do not oppose me. You cannot win."

Evanon gave her the courtesy of a bowed head, which exposed his neck to her sword. "I cannot live with myself if I let this happen without opposing it, my Lady."

Jason sighed, and rolled out of his hiding place. He stood up and said clearly, in Sidhe, "I am here, Lady Morithel."

Three things happened in succession. The redcaps moved to take Jason by the arms, Evanon planted himself in front of Jason at light speed, and Morithel watched all this happen with the tears running and no surprise at all on her face.

"Evanon, I beg of you, stand aside," Medb's Champion said.

Evanon raised his sword in salute. "Would that I could, milady. Jason and I have a set of parents in common. You would take my brother against his will. I cannot allow that."

"You are more worthy than that whole accursed House of Nightmist, save perhaps this pup who has such a friend in you. But my Queen has commanded me not to return without him."

"Then it would appear that neither of us has a choice," Evanon said, bringing his blade to a ready stance. Beside him, Jason pulled a length of copper pipe from the barrel of cuts.

Morithel said, "Lord Evanon…_Jason…_…your death is not necessary here. Return with me of your own will, and we may all go home."

"The Underhill is _not_ my home, Lady Morithel. I will never belong in a place that allows slavery. But if you leave Evanon alone, I will go with you."

Evanon said, "Jason, _no."_

They had, to this point, spoken Sidhe. Now Jason answered in English, "I busted out once, I'll do it again, and I'll make them wish they never dragged me back there on my way out."

Evanon's face lightened, the redcaps looked blank, and Morithel's expression did not change.

Switching to Sidhe, he added, "I will be all right, Evanon. I ask you not to fight Lady Morithel on my behalf." He switched languages again. "I'm not staying there long enough for my bitch cousin to do anything to me anyhow."

He dropped the pipe, taking a step towards Morithel—and never got there.

Optimus Prime came to a halt on the street outside, transforming as he stopped, and stepped over the chain-link fence with no more effort than if it had been a high curb. Diarwen drew her sword as she jumped down from his palm, landing lightly between Morithel's party and the two boys. "Well met, Lady Morithel. Are you aware that Evanon is under my protection?"

Morithel controlled any reaction that she might have had to the sudden appearance of a three-story tall mechanical warrior, but her two remaining redcaps were none so self-assured. The Unseelie swordswoman replied, "I had hoped such would be the eventuality, but I am not here for Evanon."

"For his changeling, rather?"

"This lad has agreed to return with me, in surety for the other's safety."

"Ah. It seems that our arrival throws that all awry. I will not permit you to hold one boy hostage against the other."

"Nor may I return without him."

Diarwen said, "That does present us with some difficulty, does it not? But where have my manners gone? Optimus Prime, High King of the Cybertronians, it is my honor to present the Lady Morithel, Champion to Her Majesty, Queen Medb of the Unseelie Court."

Morithel raised her sword in salute, then dropped it to her side. "Your Majesty. The honor is mine."

He said, "You speak English, I hope? I understand Sidhe much better than I yet speak it."

"Yes, I speak a passable English, milord," she replied in that tongue.

"May I have the honor of an explanation? Evanon?"

The young man gulped. He had taken the possibility—no, the probability—of his death at Morithel's hands into account without blenching. He hadn't considered needing to explain himself to Optimus.

"Sir. I am the biological child of the couple who raised Jason. He does not want to go back to the Underhill, but to stay with them. We knew, after what happened with Treadwell and the Lady Diarwen, that if they caught Jason, he would be imprisoned or worse, and that if you were to be caught harboring him—we were trying to get him back to his parents, sir, before anyone knew he was even here."

"I see. Lady Morithel, I cannot allow your intervention in this."

Morithel nodded to him, and said thoughtfully, "Lady Diarwen, I have never seen you approach battle without drawing Fire to your blade. What in the Mother's name has become of you?"

"I overreached myself and burned out my magic. I do not know yet how much, if any, will return."

The two redcaps muttered, sounding quite predatory, until Optimus said, "And as she did so to protect my people, I stand to her now in the place your Lady stands to your Queen."

They realized that the High King was looking down—a long way down—at them, and through narrowed optics. They subsided without another word.

Morithel gave the two boys a long look, then smirked happily. "At any rate, it would be dishonorable of me to offer challenge while you are so indisposed. We will delay things until you are able to fight well enough to make the game worth the candle."

"What will become of you when you return to Queen Medb without the boy?"

"Ah, milady, you have become too accustomed to the ways of these mortals you live among, and have even begun to tell time like them. I will simply not return quite yet; this world has many attractions. I shall enjoy them until these boys are a bit older. When Jason is of age, and ready to claim his birthright, he may choose to return with me, this time truly of his own will. His House is in need of a good cleansing, and he may be just the person to carry that out. Perhaps even with his brother's assistance."

Diarwen returned the smirk. "As you say, milady. Let us part in peace, then."

"Indeed. It appears that I have a wayward redcap to recover. Fair day, Your Majesty. I am honored to have met you, though I wish it could have been under better circumstances."

Optimus said, "Likewise, milady. Fair day to you."

Morithel sheathed her blade and bowed, then she and her two henchmen swept out of the lot and glamoured themselves once more.

Optimus lifted the three organics over the fence, then transformed at the curb and waited for the them to get in. He used the cohort bond to let Ironhide and Chromia, who had been frantic, know that his foster-brother was safe.

There was a tense silence as they left Las Vegas. Once they were clear of city traffic, Optimus' voice rumbled from his radio speaker. "You boys will tell me the entire story, _now."_

They shot each other one quick look, and then they began explaining, with no further hesitation, and no evasions.

Optimus arranged for someone to meet the Brierlys at McCarran International, Las Vegas' airport, when their plane came in. He refrained from shouting at the boys, since their parents would soon have plenty of opportunities to discuss their hare-brained plan with them at some length.

Since the police took no one into custody, the entire thing was explained away as some sort of fraternity prank. The men at the thrift store, prisoners on work release, were not inclined to make waves, considering that in addition to capturing and then losing what they had believed to be a child molester, they had very nearly drowned him in a washing machine.

Optimus did not know how things would settle out once the Brierlys arrived. He hoped, as much for Ironhide and Chromia's sake as for Evanon's, that the boy would not be separated from them, but that would not be his decision. As he drove back to base, he put a call through to Director Mearing to explain the situation to her.

End Part 8


	9. Chapter 9

(Disclaimers in Part 1)

Que, being one of the few bots with a four-seat alt form, had driven Graham to the airport to pick up Jason's parents. Graham said, "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Que said, "Not at all. Take your time; I'm enjoying the break, actually. Also, Ratchet is eternally nagging me to get out of my lab."

Graham collected a sign neatly lettered "Brierly" from the back seat and went in the terminal to join a line of people with similar signs.

Eventually they came out of the baggage collection area, following the crowd to the exit until Jason's mother saw the sign.

"Mr. and Mrs. Brierly?"

"Yes, that's right...?"

"Major Alastair Graham, sir."

"I'm Leonard, this is my wife Kara. Our son? Is he all right?"

"Yes, aside from a sprained ankle he seems to be fine. You'll be with him within the hour."

Que was very careful to pretend to be an ordinary Earth car on the way back to base. He supposed that the Brierlys had quite enough to be getting on with. There was no need to force an introduction to an alien species before they even got to the base.

Being lifelong New Yorkers who had never ventured west of Hackensack, they spent most of the trip fascinated by the desert scenery. "And Jason was out here all this time? How did he manage?"

"Well, he had a little help from one of the boys who lives on base. I assure you, he is in very good condition."

"He's not in any kind of trouble, is he?"

"Not with us," Graham assured them. He wanted to reunite the family before they got into the long explanation, and besides that, breaking it to them was Lennox and Boggs' job. He wasn't sure how one told parents that the baby they had taken home from the hospital and raised for fourteen years was not their biological child.

They passed through the front gate, where Que transmitted his ID while his passengers showed theirs to the gate guard.

Kara asked, "Are the Cybertronians here now?"

Graham couldn't help a grin, and Que shut off his vocalizer to avoid giving himself away by laughing out loud and scaring the daylights out of the two of them. "Oh, yes, you'll meet them soon. It's perfectly safe to be around them as long as you use your common sense. Don't dart right out in front of one, they can't stop as suddenly as we can. Other than that, they'll be aware of you and know where you are at all times when you're near them."

Lennie said, "Big place. Is this part of Nellis?"

"Yes, sir."

The fellow grinned. "Don't call me sir, I work for a living."

"Former military?"

"US Marine Corps, twenty years ago. What are you, RAF?"

"Yes, assigned to NEST through NATO at present."

The two idly talked shop for the rest of the short drive through the grounds to the base proper. Kara mostly looked around at the scenery they were passing, taking note of the harsh, desolate landscape where her son had apparently lived for weeks.

Que let them get inside before he transformed. There would be plenty of time for proper introductions later. He commed Ironhide to let him know the Brierlys were on the base.

As soon as they stepped through the hangar door into the cavernous expanse of the commons, Jason shouted, "MOM! DAD!" and came running as fast as his sore ankle would carry him, which meant a limping hobble. But his parents happily closed the distance much faster. Kara shrieked for joy and grabbed him, while Lennie pulled them both close.

Everyone gave the family some space while they reunited. Then there was another flurry of excitement as they met the first Cybertronians that they knew about.

After that, they sat down with Lennox.

The colonel had asked Dr. Boggs earlier how to break the news about the baby swap to the Brierlys.

She'd thought about it, then told him, "There isn't a 'nice' way to do it. You'll be best off saying what you have to say in so many words. After you do that, you will have to deal with their five stages of grief: denial; anger; bargaining; depression; acceptance. And so will they, which will help you deal with them appropriately if you keep it in mind."

"Grief? The kid's alive!"

"I know that. But imagine how you would feel if it were Annabelle." Will's face changed, and she went on. "They've lost fourteen years of their son's life, and more importantly, something that they thought was true, a bedrock to their picture of the world, has been taken from them: the son they love is no relation to them at all, in fact not even human. You need to acknowledge that and allow them to mourn not just the lost years but the loss of innocence that new knowledge entails. Imagine finding out that the Transformers are human actors in suits. That would knock the props out from under your worldview, wouldn't it? You would grieve not just the loss of your friends among them but the loss of your certainty that the world is what it seems to be. You might never fully trust anyone to be what they seemed again. That's what you're going to be doing to the Brierlys."

Privately, Will was not sure he would do any of that. Situations were what they were whether you liked it or not, and you made the best of it and moved on if you wanted to survive. Your world view was going to get kicked ass over teakettle every other Tuesday. It was best to accept that and learn to deal with it.

But then he remembered that these were civilians.

Reality was not always high on a civilian's list of Things to Deal With. They wanted the world to be the way they _thought _it was, not the way it _actually_ was. You had to handle them with care or you could do more damage than whatever had just kicked their worldview into next week.

Now, he shook hands with them, and then grinned at Jason. "So you're the guy who snuck onto my base and hid out for six weeks. How'd you manage that?"

"Well, some people with the kidnappers chased me as far as that little store across the road from the gate. I hid on the roof, but they had me cornered up there. There was nothing I could do. Then one of your trucks stopped. I hid in the back of it. That's when I messed up my ankle: I slipped getting down off the roof. I was hoping they'd go into town and I could get to a phone, but instead they came in here. I was scared cause of all the signs about shooting trespassers, so I hid. Only then Evanon found me, and, well, you know the rest of it."

Lennox told him, "Kid, no one's gonna shoot you for running from kidnappers. Not on my watch."

"Yeah, but how was I supposed to know that? And then when we found out why Lady Diarwen got poisoned-"

Kara yelled, "Poisoned!"

"Now, wait a minute, Mom, it's complicated."

"Well, uncomplicate it!"

"OK, but it's really long story. Have you ever heard of changelings?"

Lennie said, "Yeah, your great-grandma was Irish. She used to tell me all these old stories about leprechauns and selkies and so forth. Changelings were babies that were swapped for an elf child. But that's just an old story, Jason."

"No. No, it isn't. I'm one of them."

Lennox said, "Jason's telling you the truth. He was switched with your son, who was taken and raised by Jason's biological parents' people. Jason is your son because you raised him and loved him, not because you gave birth to him." He nodded to Ironhide.

Evanon wasn't sure what to do when Ironhide and Chromia took him over to the Brierly family. He was scared, and felt much younger than fourteen.

Will gave him a nod of reassurance. "Mr. and Mrs. Brierly, I'd like to introduce you to Evanon. This is your biological son."

"No! Jason is ours."

"That's not true. _You're lying. _Why would you say such a thing? That can't be true!"

Jason said in a shaking voice, "We'll have to get a DNA test to prove it. Evanon is your real son."

"Jason, even if this crazy story is true—_you're_ our son, and that's all there is to it. This is nuts! What kind of proof could you have? You believe this just because some kidnapper told you that you're their kid?"

"I'm not even human. How many humans do you know who are burned by cold iron? But you know I am. Didn't great Grandma's stories say anything about that?"

"You're allergic, that doesn't mean it burns you! Jason, you're allergic to _everything_, why not iron?"

Diarwen had been unable to help overhearing the shouting, and came over. "Please, Mr. and Mrs. Brierly, pardon my intrusion, but perhaps I can offer some measure of proof. I too am Sidhe, of the same species as Jason, but of a different culture and nationality. My people do not take changelings for our children. There is a reason why Jason's people do, however. Being raised in the mundane world before our magic manifests gives us a chance to build up a certain resistance against iron, as well as other things that can harm us such as the chemicals in your food."

She hesitated only momentarily before picking up an iron washer, then hastily dropping it. She turned her hand over, revealing the angry red and blistered ring on her palm: clearly a burn, not a rash. "Jason has the protection which your love has given him. Because I was not a changeling, I do not. Open your eyes and see the racial similarities between Jason and me—and then look at Evanon. He is your son, and anyone willing to do so can see that."

"This isn't...this can't be happening." Kara put her head into her hands, and began to sob. Lennie put his arm around his wife, and glared at all of them.

Will said, "Listen to me. _Nobody died_. Jason is right here, he's perfectly fine, he's going home with you. Do you understand that? These kids were rescued from a very dangerous bunch of people, and they got off scot-free. You think about that. Now I know this is a lot to take in, but let's keep track of what's important here. Given what I might have had to tell you, I'm glad _all_ I had to break to you is that your kid's not really your own."

"Oh my God. Oh my God. Jason."

All three held each other for a long time, then Lennie turned to Evanon. "You say these people raised you? Are you all right? Did they hurt you?"

"No, they did not. The reason they take changelings instead of leaving the children their own replace in orphanages is that there is magic which wards—that is, protects—their child as long as they do not mistreat the one they took. I am sorry that I did not get to grow up with you, and to know you. You seem like fine people. Know that Jason spoke of you often, and could not wait to return home to you, even at great risk. In every way that matters, you are his family."

Lennie scowled, not at the boy but at the situation. "What's going to happen to you?"

"Nothing. I have a foster family here, and I am happy to remain with them. But I would wish, after things have calmed down, to come to know you. I would like to know where I came from, and who I am."

"I want to know who this foster family is and if everything's OK before I agree to that. If you are our biological son, then we're responsible for you."

Evanon gestured to his foster parents. "Ironhide and Chromia have taken me in."

"What—but—that's —!"

Explaining it took a quite a lot of doing, but two sentences in, Ironhide and Lennie found they understood each other perfectly. This was surprising only to those who had never been grizzled old non-commissioned officers.

Lennie had served in his war, Desert Storm, then gone on to a civilian career. Ironhide's war had lasted long enough for him to achieve officer's rank, but still, at spark, he was a non-com.

Human officers who had done the same were known as mavericks, and for a very good reason: they too were still non-coms at heart.

One thing that non-coms all had in common was that they were very good judges of people, and whether those people happened to be Cybertronian or human or Sidhe made no difference at all.

Lennie was assured that this stranger of a son of theirs was a good man in the making without a word being said on the subject, because Ironhide accepted him as family.

Lennox said, "There's another irregularity that we need to talk about. When we discovered Evanon, we realized that another boy would have disappeared about the same time. The first thing we did was check missing persons reports. We found no evidence that the police were ever notified of Jason's disappearance. Can you explain to me why that was?"

Kara said, "Oh, we couldn't do that."

"Of course not," Lennie said. "Jason would have been killed if we'd told anyone."

"Absolutely. Whenever anyone asked, we told them he was with relatives out of state. It was the only way to keep him safe."

Lennox exchanged a glance with Ironhide. The couple seemed completely convinced that this was the most obvious thing in the world.

Diarwen asked them, "Do you recall seeing anyone out of the ordinary the day that Jason disappeared? Or did anything else that was strange happen that day?"

"No, I don't think so," Kara said. "I don't really remember anything that happened before Jason didn't come home from school on time."

"Wait a minute, honey. Don't you remember that woman who came to the door, and said she had the wrong apartment? Spilled her purse and her perfume bottle sprayed?"

"I'd completely forgotten."

"It was some kind of really smelly, hippie perfume. You know, patchouli or something like that."

"Cloves, Lennie. It smelled like cloves."

"A binding spell," Diarwen said. "You may think of it as similar to a...post-hypnotic suggestion. The good news is that it is not hard to unravel, if you will allow me to do so?"

"I—guess so," Lennie said dubiously. "What are you going to do?"

"Are you familiar with the concept of smudging?"

"What's that?"

"I will go to my quarters and get a smudging stick made of white sage. The smoke from this has the property of helping to remove negative energy, such as this binding. Please wait here."

Kara asked, "What's going on? Jason?"

"Uh, she's the real deal, Mom. And you've got to admit—not calling the cops? Something's going on here. Let's trust her on this, OK?"

Lennie said, "What can it hurt, Kara?"

"Well, nothing...I guess..."

Presently Diarwen returned with a satchel containing the things she needed to "do magic" when uncertain mundanes needed to be convinced and reassured. She did not strictly need most of the trappings of magical practice—what was needed was the will to manifest change in the world. But it was often simpler if those requiring her assistance saw what they expected to see. Just as for young, inexperienced witches, the tools of magical practice helped focus.

She shooed Will out of the area that she intended to consecrate for her circle, and quickly set it up. Only the necessities went on her altar—her athame, a small incense burner, a little ceramic pentacle tile, and a chalice that she had carried with her for years. A small shell of salt, and the sage wand. "Evanon, could you get me a bottle of spring water from the galley, as well as a dozen cookies and some juice, please?"

"Yes, milady."

That was quickly done, and so was casting the circle. By the time that was done, she had attracted a small crowd of onlookers, all of them convinced they were about to see "something magical." That was precisely the effect on the ambient aura that she had hoped for. It created an energy that she could use.

"Evanon, I will need your assistance if I need mana to overcome the curse. You have seen Optimus do this for me. Do you believe yourself capable?"

"Yes, milady, I can do so if you will."

"Thank you. Please bring your birth parents into the circle. Your connection with them will be helpful." She explained to the Brierlys, "The Circle is sacred space, such as a church is for Christians, or a temple for Buddhists, except that it is set up temporarily whenever and wherever we need it."

Lennie said, "But…I go to church sometimes. Is this wrong, for a Christian to do?"

"I do not believe so, or I would not ask you to do it. You need believe nothing that you did not already hold close, save perhaps," she smiled, "that we are doing this."

He nodded. "All right."

"Think of the cord which describes the Circle as the walls of a church. Evanon will use his athame to 'cut a door' in this wall, and then bring his mother in. Kara, he will ask you how you enter the Circle. The response is, 'In perfect love and perfect trust.' He will kiss you, and you will step inside. Then, you, Kara, will turn to Lennie and do the same for him. Come and stand here, near the altar. Then Evanon will close the door. Are you ready?"

Both of them nodded; that didn't seem too complicated.

Once they were inside, Diarwen lit the sage and began the ritual of smudging, chanting softly in Sidhe. Without mana of her own, she could only work with the energy of the binding itself, visualizing it as black yarn which she carefully untangled and rolled into a ball. It released Lennie first, because he had the focus resulting from his military training to shake it off when he subconsciously realized that he was bound. Kara's unbinding took a bit longer, because she was completely mundane and had no ability to perceive the binding. Once they were both free, she grounded the negative energy of the binding to Earth, where it would be sequestered and cleansed.

She allowed that to happen with a noticeable "pop" and a small puff of smoke—the onlookers wanted to see some magic, and it was rude to disappoint them!

Then she distributed their "cakes and ale," which today turned out to be chocolate chip cookies and apple juice. Sharing food and drink was one of the best ways for novices to ground themselves.

She realized how weary that had left her as she thanked the Quarters and the Deities, and opened the circle and spoke the expected benediction, "The circle is open but never broken. May peace be ever in your hearts. Merry meet and merry part, and merry meet again."

With Evanon's help, she made sure everything that had been lighted was safely put out, and then repacked the satchel. Only her athame stayed with her.

Mikaela offered to take the satchel back to their room for her, leaving her to reassure the now very upset Brierlys that they had done nothing wrong. "Morithel is very old and skilled. I am sure this seemed to her the most effective way to prevent your interference without harming you. There was no reason for you to suspect that you were under a binding."

"But we would have just let her take our son. We'd have gone the rest of our lives believing that we were protecting him by keeping silent."

"The Unseelie have a great deal to learn about respecting the rights of other races. To be honest about them, they think of other races as little more than children, and they can be quite high-handed in doing things that they believe to be for other people's own good, regardless of the trouble and sorrow that they leave in their wake. I am sorry that you and yours were caught up in this. You have lost much, and you have every right to be angry. But you have gained much also. I hope you can take comfort that you have Jason back—and that Evanon, about whom you previously did not know, is with those who love him dearly, and is back in your lives. Do not let what is past distract you from what you have here and now."

"I'll try to keep that in mind. But I hope I never see that bitch again, because if I do, one of us is likely to be in the ground and the other in the pen."

Ironhide, in the background, nodded vigorously.

"I doubt anyone could blame a father for feeling that way," Diarwen said. "But now, she has an empty house, while you have two sons."

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Evanon waved goodbye to Jason as the three of them climbed into Que's alt form. They would be staying the night at a motel in Tranquility, but coming back over the next few days to talk to Diarwen at further length, and they had been invited to stay for the base's holiday party on the twenty-third. After that, though, Jason would be going home with his parents, and Evanon was going to miss him a great deal.

Then he turned to Chromia and Ironhide, following them back to their apartment.

For a long moment, nobody said anything, but they didn't have to for Evanon to know they weren't happy with him. Finally, Chromia asked him, "What were you thinking? Evanon, _were_ you thinking? You could have been killed."

Evanon said, "I did not see that I had a choice. Honor would not allow me to abandon a fosterling of my House—Jason is my brother. Treadwell nearly had the Lady Diarwen killed. What do you think these humans would have done with a Sidhe caught hiding on the base?"

"You could have told us!"

"And then you would have been equally guilty of my crimes, according to their laws!"

Ironhide growled, "And just how did you process that losing our son would be better than gettin' in trouble with the law? Evanon, that was fraggin' stupid!"

Evanon's eyes widened. Until that moment, he had not truly comprehended that they considered him their son, someone to be loved as their own. "I—I did not know I was that to you."

"Well, you are, you're _family_. Get used to the fact that your parents are five times your height, and made of metal."

The boy's face fell, and tears shone in his eyes. "I have never had a family before. I did not recognize what I have always wanted when it was right in front of me. I am sorry to have disappointed you."

Chromia folded down on her monoped to hold him close, so that his head rested over her spark. "Evanon. You can always tell us when something's wrong. I don't care what the law is, I don't give a frag what kind of trouble we could get into. Whatever happens, cohort gets through things together."

Ironhide's big hand curled around his back. "That's right. You think I couldn't keep that little punk Treadwell away from a lost kid? Look, it's a big universe out there, and you and Jason both have a lot of growin' up to do before you'll be ready to take it on. As is, you're lucky you had your cell phone on you so Jazz could locate you when you came up missing, and you're lucky it was Prime who found you."

"I also did not consider that my actions would involve the Prime."

"Well. Didn't turn out to be a problem."

"Few things are, once he becomes involved," Chromia said.

"That's the truth," Ironhide said, trying to hide a grin and look properly stern.

"Evanon, I want you to promise me that you'll never keep anything this important from us again."

Evanon looked Chromia in the optics. "If I make that promise, and must break it, my life is forfeit. Do you still want my honor upon it?"

"Primus, no! What kind of code do you live by?"

"Chromia, if you would have me as your son, then this will be my House, and you, the Lady of that House. No promise to you is to be made lightly. If I swear a vow to you, I will keep it, or die in the attempt, or if I fail in that, then by my own hand, to redeem my honor."

"Then I'll ask you to remember always that you can trust us. If you had, Jason wouldn't have had to live out there in the desert, and you two wouldn't have had to go up against Morithel."

"I do understand that. And I will remember."

"Might not have been that smart, but what you did was brave. And standin' up for your brother was a good thing," Ironhide said. "Makin' mistakes is how you learn. Just don't make the same one twice."

"Yes, Ironhide."

Chromia asked Evanon, "Are you sure you're all right?"

"I am fine. No one harmed me in any way."

Chromia said, "Only by the blessing of Primus."

"Then from now on, I will give Him thanks, as well as my own gods," Evanon said.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Sunstreaker asked, "Burny, you sure you want me to etch this? I can repaint it."

Burnout looked into the mirror located in the Big Twins' quarters at himself for a moment. What he saw was an average mech, nothing special, nobot to write home about. Somebody who had exactly _one_ unusual thing about him: he was an acolyte to the Priesthood of Primus.

He sighed. "No, I think I need to follow the old traditions. Temple younglings painted the glyphs. Adults who consecrated their lives to Primus had them etched as a sign of that permanent dedication."

"All right. I've collected all the images I could find of priests, and there are several styles for the glyph itself. Is there a reason for that? Which one do you want me to do?"

Burnout accepted the file and looked through the images. "I knew some of these people, Sunny. This was Velocita, the Dean of Acolytes when I first came to the Temple. And this was Staccato, the Choirmaster." He took a moment to settle his fields, and Sunstreaker, not the cruel mech many thought him, gave him the time and space he needed.

A few moments later, his vocalizer a little rough, Burnout added, "There isn't a religious law about the style of the glyphs. You can get anything you're going to be happy looking at for hundreds of vorn." He chose the image of a neighborhood priest from Praxus. "Can you do this one?"

"I like that. It's simple enough to be easy to read from a good distance, but the crosshatched shading keeps it from being too stark. This ornamentation around the border is distinctly Praxian, though. Your people were from there?"

"Iacon, as far as I know."

Sunny found another image. "This is an Iaconian border. It's a little narrower, and if I change this dotted motif to a continuous line it will match the crosshatching."

"I like that. Let's do it that way." Burnout lay back on the table.

With sure strokes, Sunstreaker used a permanent marker to sketch the Glyph of Primus over Burnout's spark. When the priest approved the final placement of the design, Sunstreaker unsubspaced a rotary tool and began to sand away the paint. "Stop me when you need a rest. This hurts, and everyone needs a break now and then."

"I will. I'm going to meditate through it, especially when you begin the etching process."

"I can put on some quiet music if you want."

"Thanks, Sunny."

The artist pinged Jazz for something appropriate, and sent the files he got in return to his sound system.

Burnout shuttered his optics and let himself drift into a meditative state to soft chanting and the sound of temple chimes.

Sunstreaker was not an overly religious mech, but this was special. For an artist, to be called on to tattoo a priest was to be given the opportunity to make an offering to Primus. As he worked, he found himself chanting along, and his own fields settled into a more peaceful rhythm than he had known in vorn.

Sideswipe looked up from his work in Admin, and smiled.

End Part 9


	10. Chapter 10

(Disclaimers in Part 1)

It was time to begin her preparations for tonight's Circle, the last planning meeting before the ritual of Yule. Diarwen started a hot bath, and threw the bag containing sprigs of eucalyptus, rosemary, sage, and lavender into the water.

She left the bathroom door open while she collected her Tools and her gown and boots: not the combat boots she usually wore, but the marshdrake-skin pair, with her for many centuries because she used them only for ritual. She examined the soles critically; one of these days she would have to find a shoemaker who would ask no questions about unusual leather…

Mikaela said, "What in the world is that smell? It's wonderful!"

Diarwen smiled at her; her roommate had one hand on the door and was dressed to go to Chip's apartment. "It is the same essential oil mix I gave you for purification."

"I knew I forgot something!" Mikaela said, dropped the bag by the front door, and zipped back to her room.

Diarwen hung her long gown in the bathroom, so that the steam would purify it as well as herself. Green, the gown was of finest linen, embroidered in an oak leaf and acorn motif at neck, hem, and sleeves, with Brigid's straw cross, symbolizing the four quarters of the year, placed at center-front of the neckline.

Diarwen had, to Mikaela's bemusement, asked her to iron it for her after the Sidhe found that she could not tolerate the steam rising from the hot steel footplate: "Just to get the worst of the wrinkles out," she'd said. "The Goddess doesn't expect perfection."

But Mikaela had taken this job quite seriously, and spent an hour on the gown, which now hung flawless from its hangar.

Yes, Diarwen thought, shutting off the water in an aromatic fog, Mikaela understood that a task undertaken for the Goddess was always worth doing well. It would be interesting to see where that took the young engineer.

Her wand and goblet in their carrying leathers, her knife and sword in their sheaths, and her cincture, which would hold them all, she laid out carefully, each Tool in its Quarter, on the bathroom sink.

The sword was too large to fit behind the faucet, and so she placed it on the floor in its designated Quarter: in front of the door, in fact.

Dabbing some of the same oil mixture she had given to Mikaela on each of her chakras, the palms of her hands, and soles of her feet, Diarwen stepped into the purifying bath. She'd showered in the morning, before her shift, and again when she got off shift, but that had fulfilled the mundane purpose of cleanliness. This bath left her prepared to stand before the Divine.

Once she was fully prepared, dressed and in her regalia, she left the apartment, carrying a duffel filled with the other items she would need.

The Tiny Trine were playing cube-arrangement with D'andre Epps, Monique in attendance, in front of her apartment, and Skysong looked up at Diarwen on her approach. "Where you goin', Diarwen?"

Carefully scooping up the hem of her dress, Diarwen squatted between Song and Stormy. "Good joor to you, my loves. I am on my way to speak to my Primus, who is called Brigit." She articulated a Cybertronian greeting to D'andre, who did not look up.

Skimmer cocked his yellow head to one side, and Sky cocked hers to the other. It was Stormy, however, who said, "You be there when we Accept you?"

It didn't sound to Diarwen as if Stormy quite had the grasp of Acceptance yet, but clarifying that for him was not her task. "I shall be there. That is not for a few days yet, so you can be sure of me."

"Good," Skimmer said with satisfaction. "Everybody's coming."

Stormy, however, had another agenda. "Humans have a different Primus?"

"I am not a human, as you may remember. And I believe it is not so much a different Primus as my people's, and the human's, different name for Him."

"Oh," the sparkling said, reassured. He added, "Pretty shoes," and reached down to pet them.

Both the other sparklings had to do that too, and then, to her surprise, D'andre did the same.

Monique's eyes filled with tears. Diarwen let him finish, and then said, "I have to go now." She gave all but D'andre a farewell caress, stood, and gave Monique a hug.

When D'andre's mother whispered, "Thank you," in her ear, Diarwen heard the silvery overtones of Brigit's voice as well.

Smiling, already within the embrace of her Goddess, she made her way to Buzzard Rock. Flareup had been happy to spread the word that the area was in use between three and five.

Intruders wouldn't be unwelcome, precisely, but this was the planning meeting for the Yule ritual.

She set her duffel down on a handy rock, and took the besom from it.

Besoms, while technically brooms, are not designed to clean dirt, but rather to purify energy. Diarwen carefully "swept" a circle twenty-seven feet in diameter (sized to accommodate Cybertronians) with the besom's tufted tips two inches off the ground, and had nearly completed that task when she heard the noise of three engines.

Mikaela and Jack Binns stepped out of Jazz, who extruded a ramp Chip rolled his chair down before transforming. Optimus decanted Evanon, and Parker had been offered a ride with Prowl.

"Well met," Diarwen smiled to them all. "Blessed be."

"Blessed be," they chorused back, raggedly.

At the last meeting, they had discussed their respective affinities for the Elements. As a result, after Optimus had cast his first Circle, it was Parker who set the wards in the north, Earth's Quarter (told that practicality was an Earth quality, she had said, "Well then, that's my affinity; I don't know of anything more practical than medicine!"); Jazz who set the East/Air Quarter; Evanon in his marshdrake jerkin who set the Fire wards at the South, and Mikaela who set the water wards in the West. Those of them who were comfortable doing so summoned the elements into their Quarters. It somewhat surprised Diarwen that Jazz brought forth a strong response, but she realized that it shouldn't have: spec ops troops had to be imaginative, a primary quality of Air. Prowl smudged the circle with a stick of Mojave sage, the native plant the local indigenous people had used for cleansing.

As presiding Priest, it was Prowl who invited the Presence of the God, and looked faintly startled when he succeeded ("He's a great deal like Primus," was all the ninja said). Then it was Diarwen's own turn, Mikaela saying she was not ready yet to try out being Priestess, Parker declining because her attendance was less consistent than she felt it ought to be.

Those were not their real reasons, the priestess knew. Parker was probably not the Goddess' Own, but needed to know a few things; she would leave the Circle when the time was right. Mikaela was Hers, but Chip's beliefs were causing the young engineer some internal conflict.

Chip's physical state did not worry Diarwen, as her people had never stipulated bodily perfection as needed to enter the Circle, though it had once been required of their kings. Had it been seen as necessary, no warrior of any length of service would have been welcomed to worship, and she herself would not have been allowed to be a servant of the Goddess. Scars accumulated quickly when wounds did too.

No, Chip was at heart a religious man, but the religion he was raised in was…convinced of its own rightness. Only Chip's bond to his fellow soldiers, the Cybertronians, caused him to question that exclusivity. He certainly had learned in a very short time to respect those with whom he disagreed—and that was something Diarwen was still working very hard to fully manifest in her own life.

But she knew full well that inside the Circle, one was always student, as well as teacher.

They had no agenda that afternoon beyond planning the Yule ritual. Parker said she would spring for a dozen white roses for the altar. Mikaela would prepare a hot mulled cider for the humans and the Sidhe, and Optimus had requested a nice high-grade for the bots from Sunstreaker, who was currently brewing it. Jazz and Prowl looked at one another, and said, "Rust sticks," together. Diarwen made herself responsible for vegetables, Binns promised wild-yeast sourdough bread. Evanon would provide the music; Diarwen knew that she would bring her harp and bodhran, but likely have no time to join him.

Chip, who had previously quietly departed once the rituals he never participated in were complete, said, "I'll make a veggie soup."

Dead silence greeted this pronouncement. Diarwen recovered first. "It will be lovely to have you join us, Chip."

The redhead shrugged. "Yeah, well. I've wanted to, I just had to dig up the Scripture that said it was okay. Corinthians, if you wanna know."

"Wonderful," Diarwen said. She gave herself a mental kick for being surprised that there was such a permission within the Christian Bible. So easy to remember the horrors of the Burning Times and reduce them to one-dimensional bigoted caricatures, but the easy way was not right. There were bigoted Christians, as there were bigots in every faith, but theirs was at heart a faith of "love thy God and love thy neighbor."

"A beautiful Yule indeed. Now we must discuss timing, as the Acceptance ceremony of the Tiny Trine has been set at the moment of Yule itself, so our ceremony must be earlier."

"Why earlier?" Optimus asked, puzzlement radiating.

"The moment the Sun reaches its southernmost point in the sky is Yule itself. After that point is reached, the energy changes, and it is no longer appropriate to hold a Yule ceremony. Were we free to plan it so, this would be the moment we lit the Yule log, which we would then tend until the sun has risen far enough to touch the fire with a ray of light." She smiled. "Our ancestors thought that this strengthened the Sun, you see, so that Summer returned."

Chip said thoughtfully, "Y'know, we find a big ol' downed cactus, we could use that for the Yule log."

Prowl said precisely, "I think several would be needed, as the log will have to burn for more than eighteen hours. I'll ask the Wreckers to locate a suitably-sized downed fir log, if that would be acceptable. They can also keep an eye out for one with fir mistletoe, as it is found on the local white fir."

"That would be most suitable," Diarwen said, smiling. "We need to discuss timing further, however. Optimus, you will be officiating at the Trine's Acceptance, of course. When will you need our Yule ceremony to be complete, and the meet ended?"

He said, "A minimum of five hours before the ceremony, which begins at nine PM sharp. I must meditate for two of those, and I require some time to prepare myself after that; I have set the beginning time of the ceremony to allow for the unpredictability of sparkling responses."

Diarwen made a note to herself to be sure to ground him properly at the end of their ritual. "Very well. I suggest we convene here at eleven-thirty; we'll be done by two or three at the very latest, and of course any who wish to may continue the party. The lighting of the Yule log will be the last thing we do before ending the circle. Once it is lit, it cannot be allowed to go out. Who will take shifts to watch it? I myself will stand watch from shortly after the Acceptance until the sun touches it. Any of you are welcome to join me for any part of that; it is a vigil, and as such a minor rite of its own. Seeing the Sun touch the Log is thought to bring good fortune for the Sun's waxing period. But coverage during the ceremony…."

"I'll provide it,"Evanon said, "if my Lord and Lady permit me."

But Jack Binns shook his head. "There's no need for anybody here to miss it. You all have closer ties to the sparklings than I do, so I think it makes most sense for me to be the one who stays to watch the Log."

"But your shift ends at five." Chip said. "Dean'll be here then."

"I won't be leaving when my shift ends," Jack said.

"You can sleep on the couch in my apartment if you want to stay longer."

"Yeah? Thanks, Chip. I'd like that."

Diarwen said, "The last thing I wish to speak with you all about is timing. We have a conflict between the Trine's Acceptance and our own celebration; I have given preference to the Acceptance because it is a once-in-a-lifetime ritual for the sparklings."

The Sidhe watched as all the eyes and optics changed again.

"So that, I think, is the last bit of business…" she stopped, then said. "I am an idiot. I have completely forgotten candles. We need luminaria, seven candles of at least votive size, and three candlesticks."

Prowl said, "I'll take care of that."

Prowl was a very creative mech. What he brought to Diarwen's apartment two days later was a set of fourteen luminaria, made of unbreakable heatproof translucent material etched with appropriate symbols. Twelve were colored to represent one of the four elements, two solstices, two equinoxes, or four cross-quarter days. The other two were of silver and gold, for the masculine and feminine principles.

Wheeljack never did get around to telling anyone but Burnout that the experience of making them had been almost like making an offering to Primus for him.

Diarwen ordered a gross of unscented white votive candles from Amazon, along with fourteen more romances for Chromia, paid for two-day delivery, and stopped worrying about Yule entirely.

The Yule log was a white fir: what the Wreckers moved to the location of the Circle the day before the ceremony was three feet high and half that long, precisely large enough to do the job and leave little behind itself save ash. The Wreckers had diligently gathered all the pine mistletoe attached to the fallen giant, and Diarwen distributed much of it to humans on the base.

She kept for the ritual a great deal of the mistletoe which had berries attached, symbol of the fertility now otherwise hidden from human eyes. It was going to be a great Yule ritual, Diarwen knew, when the Goddess had been so generous as this with Her gifts.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

A knock sounded on Optimus' door frame. "Sir? I'm Captain James Jeffries."

"Ah," said Optimus, "Please come in, Captain Jeffries. Will you have a seat?"

Wondering just what a being from another star system wanted from the base chaplain with the highest security clearance at Nellis, Jeffries climbed the stairs to sit in the visitor's chair which put him at eye-height with Optimus. Their eyes were almost the same blue, though Jeffries' red hair clashed with Optimus' flames.

The leader of the Autobots didn't keep him in suspense. "Captain, we are having a celebration among my people, according to our religion, to welcome some young children of our species. It is roughly analogous to a baptismal ceremony, or perhaps a First Communion. Pagan religions will be represented at the ceremony, and I was hoping you might agree to attend as well, and participate if your conscience will allow it."

"My conscience is pretty lenient in the matter, sir," said the chaplain, placing his Air Force uniform hat on his knee. "I am a Universalist Unitarian. I'm willing to specify that your god is a definition of the greater God, right along with

everyone else's."

"Optimus, please.—You search for the truth as you can best perceive it."

"Yes, s—Optimus. My personal belief is that everyone has a piece of the truth, but nobody's seen the whole elephant."

"Ah. Well, Captain—"

"Please make it Jim, Optimus."

"Thank you, Jim. We'll be holding the part of the ceremony at which I officiate, then there will be a brief statement from our pagan priestess, and last, I would like to have you speak. The ceremony involves the sparklings' – that's the term for our children – formal Acceptance into the cohort of their caregivers, if the sparklings so choose. They may elect anyone they wish as their cohort."

"That sounds like our child dedication ceremony, yes. I'd like to meditate on it, as it's not solely my own decision which counts here. Unless I get instructions from Upstairs to the contrary, I'll be happy to welcome them into the family of God."

"That sounds most appropriate, Jim. Is there anything else I can tell you?"

"Not at the moment. How may I contact you if I have further questions?"

Optimus handed the man the tiny slip of paper which humans seemed to have a lot of faith in called a "business card." "Would you care to see the base, Jim?"

Jeffries, who let few of his parishioners know he was an avid reader of science fiction, said, "Optimus, I'd love to."

Optimus led him outside, and transformed, opening his door. "One of the best things about being Cybertronian, Jim, is that you don't have to wait for a driver to bring your car around."

Jeffries was surprised into giving a laugh, and climbed inside. "There's a lot to be said for that, for sure."

Optimus clicked the seat belt closed, and drove to the Proving Ground, where Ironhide was Proving that shells detonated upon impact with the earth.

Optimus rolled to a stop, and opened his door. On the way there, Jeffries had mostly gaped at Cybertronians in root mode: every human's first reaction.

Barricade had put the sparklings down for a nap a few hours before Jeffries' arrival. He promised to ping Optimus when they woke, and Optimus thought that dealing with Ironhide until they did so might either frighten the man off or entrance him. It was always an even chance either way with Ironhide, but the mech served as the gold standard for bullshit detectors among them.

Yet another useful concept given the Cybertronians by their tiny allies, Optimus mused.

"Captain James Jeffries, my foster-father and our second-in-command here, Ironhide," Optimus said. "Captain Jeffries is looking into attending our Acceptance for the trine."

"Sir," said Jeffries.

"Captain," growled Ironhide. "Your first visit to the base?"

"Yes, sir."

"Make it Ironhide. They mighta promoted me, but that's just because I didn't run fast enough."

Jeffries grinned. "They did the same thing to me. Thanks. I'm Jim. How'd you know it was my first time?"

Ironhide and the Prime were both kneeling to talk to the man. "'S the round eyes, with the white part showing all around the dark bit in the middle," Ironhide said, and crossed his wrists on one knee. "By the second day, they're over bein' terrified, and the white goes away at the bottom."

Jim Jeffries' grin got wider, and the white at the bottom disappeared from his own eyes. "Sorta like the rookies in combat," he said.

"Have you been in combat, Jim?" Optimus asked in surprise.

"Before I served as a chaplain, Optimus, I was on a ground-crew in Afghanistan. We had a few raids there, and I learned to grab a rifle along with everybody else. Came back home, got my bachelor's and master's in Comparative Religion at University of Wyoming, and trained as a UU minister. Put in a couple years ministering in inner-city Chicago. I was there for the Battle, which is why I re-upped.― So what are you testing, Ironhide?"

The ancient mech picked up a net-loaded shell, and extended it toward the chaplain on his palm. "'S a load I think might keep a lotta humans from gettin' permanently damaged in a battle. It's a net, covered with glue. Fire it over the heads of a bunch of attackers, and go pick 'em up one by one."

"That's a great idea. What kind of trouble are you having with it?"

Optimus got Barricade's ping that the sparklings had risen from their naps, sent acknowledgement, but remained silent. So far he was reading nothing from his foster-father's fields but a tentative liking for the human.

Ironhide was saying, "Sometimes it don't deploy right. I can't figure out how to get it to detach consistently from the shell." He broke the one he held in his palm open, showing Jeffries the mechanism, and explained it to him. Optimus used this time to comm Barricade and find out where the sparklings would be in fifteen minutes.

"Tell you what," Jeffries was saying, "I'll have a friend of mine, supervises the parachute riggers at Nellis, get in touch with you. He might have some ideas."

"Yeah? That'd be helpful. Thanks." Ironhide dug out his own business cards, and gave the first one ever to Jeffries, sending a comm to Optimus—::If he followed you home I'd let you keep him.::

His foster-son smothered a snicker and said, straight-faceplated, "Jim, if you're ready, I'd like to take you to meet the little ones. If you'll give me five minutes on the range, Ironhide, I can show Jim my top speed."

Ironhide grinned. "Have fun," he said, and it wasn't clear which of them to whom he issued that command.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Ten minutes later, Optimus arrived in front of Barricade's apartment, and disembarked Jeffries, who had emitted a big old Wyoming "Wah-hooooo!" at 257 miles per hour. Optimus, feeling the point made, had coasted from that point to the exit from the Proving Ground, whereupon he was forced to touch his brakes twice.

Pinging Barricade, he popped his door. and transformed. They went into hangar B.

Barricade opened the twenty-foot door to his quarters, and two four-foot mechlings zinged past them, one shouting, "Hi Optimus!" and the other adding belatedly, "Hi other guy!"

They exited the hangar, hitting the air ten feet before the doorway. Skysong's optics went with them, but she remained in Barricade's arms.

"I guess," Optimus said resignedly, "you'll be meeting Barricade and Skysong first. Her brothers have escaped."

Jeffries' eyes followed the two small shapes, cutting cookies around one another in the lucent blue, and he smiled. "So I see."

Optimus presented the three of them to one another. Barricade set his femmeling down, and Skysong decided that she liked Jeffries.

"I can't fly yet, you know," she said, swinging her little body back and forth with her servos clutched together behind her back. "I hurt my wings."

"I'm very sorry to hear that," Jeffries said, kneeling to bring himself to her level. "Could you fly before you hurt them?"

"Yes. That's how I got hurt. Then my Chip—he's hurt like me, except instead of flying, he can't walk—told Wheeljack an' Ratchet to make me a ultralight like Doctor Parker's, except littler, so I could fly. Then I got too big for it, an' they made my now flier, an' it's a lot more like real flying, all by myself, like I could before I got hurt."

Jeffries had small children waiting for him at home, and had no trouble unraveling this information. "That's really great. Do you get to fly often?"

"Every day. Dr. Parker's going to fly with me now, so I gotta go." She offered her tiny servo to Jeffries, who shook it, and left for the main hangar at good speed.

Barricade nodded to them. "Nice to have met you, Captain Jeffries."

"Barricade. You're their parent?"

"Just the manager of their circus. Excuse me; she's getting awfully close to the road."

They watched him leave; Jeffries was impressed all over again by Cybertronians' size and speed. Almost every person here on this base, he thought, had once taken arms against those inclined to evil among these creatures, and eventually defeated them.

_Human_ person, he amended himself hastily. And Upstairs did not reprimand him for that thought.

He understood that he was more than usually in the presence of heroes, of any species.

Optimus said, "Barricade is not their parent. He is their primary caretaker, however, and their parent in all but the, er, non-biological sense." Jeffries grinned. "This ceremony will mark the founding of his and the sparklings' cohort, if they Accept him."

"And how is 'cohort' defined among you? The English word actually derives from Latin, Optimus, and was first used in relation to the Roman legions. In that culture it meant the group you go into battle with, shouting."

Optimus smiled as they walked back down the central corridor. "Their definition is a more limited usage than our own. Cohort is a difficult concept to explain in English without oversimplification, Jim. Broadly, it is an extended family, but not only that. After my own parents died, I was fostered into an existing cohort which was very like a human extended family, containing as well a few close family friends."

"I see," Jeffries said thoughtfully, and Optimus was reassured that he did. "It's emotional closeness that forms a cohort."

Optimus said, "Exactly. We have among us a four-person gestalt—" and stopped, as the human's fields began to radiate puzzlement. "A gestalt is a group of four or five Cybertronians, most often sparked—given life—at the same moment who can unite to form another, independent being, much larger and stronger than most root modes. I understand from conversations with gestalt members that they have a constant awareness of one another which is deeper than I have of my cohort members."

Jeffries said thoughtfully, "I see. That awareness is why such care is taken in forming a cohort."

"Yes." By this time, they had reached the visitor's parking lot, and stopped by Jeffries' car.

"Optimus, what is a root mode?"

"This is my root mode. It's my alt-mode in which you rode to the Proving Ground."

"Ah. Thank you. Please go on." The human was watching the sparklings fly, amusement tipping up the corners of his mouth.

"The gestalt are considering the adoption of two more persons unrelated to them into their cohort, as well. Those two will not be part of the gestalt, but part of the gestalt's cohort."

"What do they have in common?"

"Their work. A cohort can be any group with a common goal or strong ties."

"Ah. Go on, please."

"Membership in a cohort is a lifelong bond, so the members are chosen with care. It is not uncommon for military units of long standing to form a cohort, and remain together once their service has ended. Cohort is the basic building block of our society, as family is of your own. Groups of cohorts form septs within clans, or sometimes complete clans, and in our history, clans made up the city-states of Cybertron."

"I see. And this cohort the sparklings will form?" They watched Skysong and Parker take off, Skysong joining her brothers in the air for a bit of play before Parker called them to order.

"Its original purpose will be to raise the sparklings, but as time goes on, that purpose will grow to include other goals. The cohort will not break up when the sparklings mature."

Jim Jeffries turned to Optimus, and smiled.

"Optimus, I was christened James Obadiah. My middle name means 'servant of God.' One does what one can in that service, and I am completely convinced that your folk are, with mine, people of the Deity I serve. I will be happy to do this for all of you."

End Part 10


	11. Chapter 11

(Disclaimers in Part 1)

Barricade picked up an extremely shiny femme sparkling and told the mechlings, "You two, don't get dirty!"

Flareup rinsed polish from her servos and reached for a shop towel to dry them. She subspaced the polish and a few clean rags, just in case.

"Cade-Cade, does anybot ever _not_ get Accepted? What if we don't?" Skimmer asked, worry furrowing his brow-plates.

"Every sparkling is Accepted by Primus," Barricade reassured him. "It's more about _you_ Accepting _us:_ your cohort here, and those in the Well. See, every time you're re-sparked, you get a big do-over. A few bonds carry over from one life to the next, like your trine bond, or a spark-bond, but mostly you get to pick all over again. When you were a little thing, we all took care of you and protected you, but we didn't expect you to be cohort with us because you were too little to understand. Now you do understand, so you get to pick who you want to be cohort with and form a cohort bond with those mecha. This is the first really important thing you ever do as a Cybertronian."

"You'll be our parent after this, won't you? I mean, really, everybot will know."

"Well, I think they kinda do now, but this'll make it official, if you Accept me."

Skimmer's little mouthplates dropped open. It had never occurred to him…. "But 'course I'll Accept you, Cade-Cade! Who else would I?"

Barricade squatted to bring himself to the sparkling's level. "I'm happy that you'll Accept me. But you know what makes me even happier? That that's your choice. You could Accept anybot, but you're Accepting me."

The young Winglord of Vos was not entirely reassured, but his optics changed, and Barricade was sure that the lesson had been absorbed: choice is good.

"What about when we get older? How do you be in more than one cohort?"

"You just do. Most everybot belongs to two, the one they're sparked into and the one they make after they grow up. And more bots can join a cohort, too." Barricade glanced at Flareup, and their optics met for a moment before they looked away from each other. "It just makes your family bigger, that's all."

"Will we really know if our genitors Accept us in the Well of All Sparks?" Skysong asked.

Barricade hesitated. Of the three genitors, Starscream had been the worst glitch imaginable when he was alive; Barricade wouldn't put it past him to disown a sparkling who went Autobot. He was pretty sure Thundercracker and Skywarp had more sense. "I don't know, sweetspark. I had a big ol' Praxian family, so I don't really remember what the difference was between all of them who were with us and the ones who'd gone before. But you'll know that Primus Accepts you."

Sky wasn't finished, though. She smirked, "I know who Amaranth would Accept. Chip."

"Really?" said Flareup. These humans; if there was ever a lull in the bot goings-on it seemed like the humans rushed in to fill the vacuum. She held out her arms, and Sky jumped into them. "Why don't you tell me _all_ about it on the way."

They went up to the temple site, the sparklings, somehow, still clean. Prime and Burnout had been there for a while already, consecrating the area. Diarwen was present as well, and would offer the Trine a blessing after the Cybertronian ceremony was finished, but she attended primarily as an honored guest. Jim Jeffries was off robing himself for the short speech he would make when Optimus and Diarwen were finished.

The rock wall at the back of the overhanging cliff was now decorated with several woven metal tapestries, Sunstreaker's work. The central one, largest, represented Primus, while three to each side depicted the Original Primes.

Wheeljack had lovingly built the holder of the Flame representing the Spark of Life, a silvery brazier on a stand. That stand was actually a small energon generator, which collected the sunlight that streamed into the space beneath the overhang for a few hours every day to create the very small amount of energon needed to fuel it.

One by one, the bots assembled in the cold night, as well as many humans who had come to love the sparklings.

Sam thought that the bad movie he'd been watching had changed scenes, somehow; had he dozed off? Then he realized that Primus was not surprised to see him here. And neither was Gaia. And then he realized something else that startled him badly—Optimus was not immediately aware of him, nor was Diarwen, not until Gaia "poked" them. They were both concentrating on the ritual.

He looked down at his own ankle, and found the silver cord connecting him to his body.

Okay. Astral travel. That he could deal with. It must be important that he be here, so he Paid Attention.

That ritual was held in Cybertronian, with Jolt translating into English.

Optimus began. "Welcome, people of Primus! We are gathered this joor to witness the Acceptance of the sparklings Starskimmer, Stormracer and Skysong, and to welcome a new cohort to the clan and congregation. Let us come before the First One and give thanks!"

"Thanks and praise unto Primus!" the congregation replied.

"Those who seek Acceptance, come forward."

Barricade ushered the small ones to the dais. They were a little bashful about being on display to everyone, but they had their backs to the congregation, so it wasn't that bad.

Optimus smiled at the three seekerlings. "Starskimmer, Stormracer, Skysong. Welcome. Is it the wish of your Trine to come to Primus, and to the Clan?"

Starskimmer felt the harmony in the bond he shared with his brother and sister. "Yes."

Optimus touched on his bond with Gaia. ::Are you ready to do this now? Just as we practiced. And remember what we talked about. Keep your fields hidden within mine so that no one realizes the All-Spark is here.::

::I remember. I'm ready!:: Gaia was excited; this was the first time she had been allowed to _do_ something! Even if she did have to hide.

Optimus took a moment to be still, to be at peace, before he reached out to the All-Spark which Gaia protected.

There had been no way of knowing until he actually tried it in ritual if he could establish contact with it, and Optimus had wakened three times in the last orn with fear eating at him: fear of a failure to connect to Primus that would scar the sparklings for life. But Primus saw His people's need, and when his Prime reached out in simple faith, He reached back.

Joy exploded through everyone's fields, first Optimus' own. Then Burnout's, as he knew what was happening. Then Optimus' personal cohort. And then every adult Cybertronian present. No one knew who started it, but slowly and reverently at first, then more loudly, with joyful tears, they began to chant "'Til all are one!"

Diarwen had been working in Circle for many, many hundreds of years, and had been a High Priestess so long that it had become simply part of the background fabric of who she was, inseparable from Diarwen the warrior or even Diarwen the woman. That was a great source of strength for her, but at the same time, she realized she had come to take her daily contact with the Divine for granted.

Until now. Until she witnessed these storm-tossed survivors of an unimaginable war reuniting with their All-Father, their beloved Primus—and He with them.

Tears sprang to her eyes, and joy to her heart. In Diarwen's tradition, upon this Yule night, upon this sacred Earth, the Goddess gave birth to the Young God, returning Him to His. And, tonight, Primus was once again tangibly returned to His people.

Earlier, she had officiated at Yule with her own circle, and now she had witnessed this, felt it to the depths of her own soul. Brigit had blessed her indeed.

After the immediate celebration quieted, Optimus held up his servos and drew his people back into the ritual. "We humbly accept the gift of the First One's Presence among us."

"All thanks and praise unto Primus!" The congregation thundered back.

"Who, being Accepted of Primus, sponsors these sparklings this joor?"

"I, Barricade of Praxus, Guardian of these sparklings, stand as their sponsor."

"I, Flareup of Ironhide-Lennox, stand as their co-sponsor."

A surprised whisper ran through both the bot and human areas of the congregation. Everyone knew that Ironhide and Lennox called each other "brother" informally and had for years, but at least in Cybertronian terms, this announcement served as a formal adoption. There was no way as yet to accomplish the same thing under human laws, but as far as the Cybertronians were concerned, with the merger of the two cohorts, everyone Will called kin was now kin to Ironhide's and Chromia's family as well—and everyone Ironhide called kin was also kin to the Lennoxes.

Optimus' optics flickered to Ironhide and Chromia, then to Will and Sarah, who couldn't quite keep the grins off their faces. And he wondered if the humans' proverbial penny had dropped for Ratchet and Diarwen yet.

Ratchet was Ironhide's cohort brother. Diarwen was Lennox' sister-by-choice. By joining their cohorts, Ironhide and Will had forced the medic and the Sidhe to adopt each other.

Optimus really wanted to be in the room when they figured _that_ out.

With a glyph of apology to Primus, Optimus returned his full attention to the ritual ...could that be a hint of amusement he sensed echoing through his bond with Gaia?

They had arrived at the part of the ceremony which absolutely required a trained assistant.

Most Cybertronians simply did not have the coding to interact with such holy artifacts as the Matrix or the All-Spark without becoming fully engaged by them. More than once as an acolyte in the Temple, Optimus had needed to gently guide a worshipper through disengaging with the All-Spark and leaving its chapel. Otherwise, they would stay there, entranced, until they redlined from lack of energon. That was the main reason it had been sequestered in its own chapel in the first place—that, and its proclivity for sparking inappropriate frames. Outside of Optimus himself and Burnout, only Bumblebee had the firewalls appropriate to interacting with the All-spark without danger of being mesmerized by it.

Primes had always needed priestly assistants for another reason, as well. In order to commune with the All-Spark, it was sometimes necessary for a Prime to lower his or her own firewalls and interact with the sacred cube in the same way that every other worshipper did. They too often needed assistance in returning to the mundane world afterward—something short of knocking themselves out and waking up later with empty tanks and a thumping processor ache.

Human celebrants of most religions also experienced a parallel to that problem, and Diarwen herself was intimately familiar with it, having served her Goddess in many ways for two hundred vorn.

An adult would know what was going on, and struggle to resist enmeshment. Sparklings, however, still lacked the fully-developed circuits that would prevent them from surrendering totally to the All-Spark and being permanently damaged by that experience. It was the job of the assistant priest to shield them, when the celebrant might be too overwhelmed to carry out that function, from the trauma that would result from either overly fast separation from the All-Spark, or being held too long within its power.

Optimus would be giving much of his conscious function over to Primus. Probably the majority of the congregation thought that was mostly ceremonial, having been too caught up in their own experiences to process what was happening with the high priest. But Optimus and Burnout knew better.

Starskimmer's little yellow frame shone like polished topaz as the tiny Winglord stood before the massive Prime. He had practiced his speech over and over again, because he didn't want to trip over the glyphs and make a mistake in front of _everyone. _"I am Starskimmer of Vos. I come before the First One to ask for Acceptance."

Optimus said, "Primus welcomes all who come with open sparks and servos. Come, and be Accepted." He shuttered his optics momentarily, and when he opened them again, they were no longer their usual blue but instead flickered with every color of the spectrum—the sign of a priest in active communication with the Well of All Sparks.

Absolutely fearless, the gift of the faith of an innocent, Starskimmer reached out to join his energy field to his Prime, and through him, to Primus.

Stormracer, then Skysong joined with him, and from beyond, they felt the touch of their genitors.

Skywarp was first, having never cared about factions in life. He sang joyful welcome to his creation, Skysong, offering his blessing and complete, unconditional acceptance of her. She replied with the full measure of her own sweetness and joy.

Thundercracker was right behind him, more sedate, offering Stormracer glyphs of pride and confidence, as well as an admonition to learn from his carrier's mistakes in order to avoid repeating them.

Then Starscream…Optimus felt resistance from beyond.

Reacting to spark-level coding, Skimmer sang glyphs of summoning into the bond: he was Winglord now, and he _would_ be obeyed.

Starscream returned to the Flock, even if it was as yet a flock of six, and found there only love and forgiveness, and his son's request for the same.

Still the same prideful spark he had always been, Starscream continued to resist for a measurable instant, though only that—then he returned the same glyphs of love and forgiveness to his small Autobot son. His pride dissolved within that love, and Starscream, for the first time since he had been a very tiny sparkling, knew peace.

After this brief reunion, the sparklings' attention was gently returned to the world of the living by Burnout. Their connection to their genitors did not entirely fade, never would, but moved serenely into the background of their processors.

Optimus asked, "Whom shall you have as cohort?"

All three little ones offered their fields to Barricade. He knelt behind them, one servo on Skimmer's shoulder, the other on Stormy's, while the little mechlings joined servos with their sister. Once this circle was established, to Barricade's surprise, Skimmer and Song extended their servos to Flareup, and all three opened their fields to her.

Barricade had no hesitation in joining his fields to theirs in this, nor did he hide his surprise.

Flareup blinked, moved to them, and took their servos.

The five of them were lost in one another and in the all-encompassing love of Primus as He blessed the founding of a new cohort.

When he knew it was time, Burnout gently began the process of disengagement. Once it was complete, he raised a large cube of energon, that cube itself a second offering of Sunstreaker's to Primus, first dedicating a libation to Primus by pouring it into the Flame. Next he offered the cube to Optimus, who sipped and returned it to him, and he shared the rest with the new cohort.

Sky smacked her lip plates and said, "Oh, that's good!" The crowd did not laugh, but an affectionate murmur flowed from them to her.

The energon flowed into their intakes carrying the blessing, and the presence, of Primus himself, Optimus knew: and always would, if they could but open themselves to feel that. And the tiny cubes passed among the congregation offered them all the same blessing.

The humans among them simply held the energon in their tiny hands for a moment, before passing the cubes on to their Cybertronian friends and kin.

Optimus was open wide enough emotionally that his vocalizer threatened to glitch. He reset it, which all his cohort felt, and a few of those not cohort correctly interpreted the resulting noise. Gaia steadied him, and he went on, offering glyphs of peace and safety, a traditional blessing, to everybot present. He then went about shutting down the congregation's openness, gently, one by one. Last he came to Barricade and the sparklings, and performed the same office for them.

The ritual was now complete. Those present, save for Optimus himself, were now safely separate from the overwhelming power of the Divine.

Separate for the moment, but always part of the congregation, and eventually to return to Primus. "'Til all are one," Optimus said, as Barricade picked up Sky and the two mechlings stood tall beside him.

"'Till all are one," they replied, a single will using many voices.

At Optimus' summons, Diarwen stepped forward, the long green gown she wore for ritual rustling about her feet. The moment of Yule approached; she could feel it in her bones. "I am honored beyond expression to have witnessed your ritual of Acceptance here tonight. In the traditions of my faith, there is perhaps no more appropriate night of the year than tonight to welcome the God among us once more. It is also my great honor to ask the blessings of Brigit upon the family these young ones, with Flareup and Barricade, have formed.

"Starskimmer, Winglord of Vos, may you long fly at the head of your Flock, to rule with wisdom and justice, and the love of your people.

"Stormracer, may your life be filled with curiosity and wonder, may the winds ever carry you to new discoveries, and bring to you every happiness.

"Skysong, may there be no limits to the heights to which your wings carry you in health and grace, and may you find all that will bring you joy.

"Flareup, may you find joy and fulfillment in this new cohort.

"Barricade, may the new path which you have chosen bring you uncounted days of fulfillment, and may you find all that you seek therein.

"May all of you go forward with Brigit's protection, and may the fires of Her hearth refine you and light your way through all the days of your lives, from your youth until your venerable old age. May She guide you to love and plenty, and bring you safely home at last. Blessed be."

She nodded to Jim Jeffries, who said simply, "We are filled with joy to welcome Starskimmer, Stormracer, and Skysong into the community of the people of God." He placed a tiny bit of Ratchet-approved oil on each small helm.

The Flame burned brighter still for a moment. Safely nestled next to Optimus' spark, Gaia sighed happily as the All-Spark pulsed once.

Sam found himself suddenly 2,425 miles away, staring at the credits of the movie in his apartment.

The congregation dispersed, breaking off in different directions, gathering in cohorts as most went back to the hangars, and a few went to the construction site where the Wreckers and the tractor gestalt were eager to show off their work. Some of the humans stayed to talk to Jim Jeffries; Optimus overheard him describing the rite as a "hot" ceremony, whatever that was.

Diarwen waited for Optimus as Burnout grounded him, and he recovered from the experience. Burnout said a few final prayers, grounded himself, and then left to join the rest at the construction site.

When everyone else moved away, Diarwen crossed to Optimus. He held out his servo to her, lifting her to his shoulder strut.

"Optimus, thank you for the opportunity to be a part of this."

"Thank you, my love, for joining with us; I feel that went as well as it did because I had previously been in your Circle.—Are you warm enough there? Shall I transform so that you may ride in my cab?"

"I am quite warm enough, and from here I can see the stars very well. They are so clear tonight."

"Then let us watch them together. I will accompany you in your vigil over the Yule Log."

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Ratchet met Barricade and the little ones just outside the sacred space; Flareup was standing apart from them, but clearly waiting to speak to Barricade. "Hold on a minute," he said gruffly. "I brought something with me."

He unsubspaced Skysong's flying frame. "Barricade, with your permission, they can fly for half a human hour, and then they have the airstrip to land on."

Barricade blinked. "Thank you, Ratchet. Sky, Stormy, Skimmer, what do you say?"

They were still a little high from their experience, and so did not _say _"Thank you" so much as mob Ratchet with expressions of gratitude both verbal and physical. When that was over, he had Sky in his arms, and she gave him a human kiss—which process he would never, ever admit he had grown to like—then placed her spark next to his and wound her tiny arms around his neck. "Thank you, Ratchet. When I grow up, will you be part of my cohort?"

"When you grow up, I would be honored indeed to be so."

She squeaked with glee, and jumped down, running to her frame.

"Thank you, Ratchet," Barricade said. "It's very kind of you. This is best, that they fly together to get rid of the excess energy."

Ratchet might have smiled a little, if you knew him well. "Religious overcharge," he said briefly. "Optimus and Megatron used to beat the shavings out of each other when they were young, after Optimus began to be trained in ritual. Had to look it up to understand why."

Barricade laughed, and Ratchet sent him a glyph of good-humored parting.

From Optimus' shoulder, Diarwen said thoughtfully, "I would never have expected such kindness and generosity from Ratchet."

"Should you ask him about it," Optimus replied, "he would tell you that it's only medical necessity."

"Yes," she said. "I've seen him do that before."

Optimus said, "Those three stars in a diagonal row—that's Orion's belt, isn't it?"

He knew perfectly well it was Orion's belt, but he needed to let Ratchet and Diarwen discover the admirable points in one another without rubbing either one's nose plates in their similarities…preferably before he told them they were now cohort.

Beyond them, Flareup said to Barricade, "May I walk with you? We have a thing or two to discuss."

"That we do," he said. "Little glitches."

Barricade leaned forward and touched his lip plates lightly to hers; he felt that she was startled, but she didn't pull away. So he put his arms around her and broke the kiss, then they stayed there for a while with their sparks nearly in contact with one another, optics closed, heads together, doing nothing more than feeling out one another's spark.

It was, despite or because of their vorn together, something that Ironhide and Chromia still did, on a regular basis.

Some time had passed before a small and piping voice said, "Hey! Are you guys sick?"

Flareup glanced up at Barricade, then smiled at Stormy, who had lit arm's length from them, and now watched the proceeding with an air of interest, helm on one side. "No, sweetling, not at all. Where are Skimmer and Sky? Did they land?"

"Yes. Can't fly no more, the colonel said.. Song set down on the colonel's lawn an' she an' Skim are waitin' for you, Cade-cade. I walk back with you?"

"Better idea, maybe," Barricade said, reached down, and tossed the sparkling up in the air, to resounding shrieks of delight. He caught the small falling body, and settled it around his neck struts, one hand on the little round leg, the other extended to Flareup. "Shall we go home?"

She smiled at her cohort. "Yes," she said, and they went past the hangars and down the street to pick up the other kids from the Lennox apartment. They found them with the Lennox girls, playing on the back fire escape under Sarah Lennox' watchful eye.

Song's flier was out front, pulled up to the porch rail where no one would walk into it in the dark. Barricade didn't have room to subspace it—Ratchet must have one pit of a subspace hold—so he put Song on his other shoulder and carried the flier. "Did you land on the street?"

"Yeah. I didn't mean to. It looked the same in the dark."

"You mean you weren't paying attention. There are no houses on the south side of the airstrip. You've got to watch what you're doing around the humans. Your flier is a lot bigger than they are, you could run right over one and that wouldn't be good."

"Sorry, Cade-Cade. I'll remember next time."

"That's my little femme." He set a reminder to check if the flier had proximity sensors, because her own wouldn't extend far enough to pick up the tiny electrical field of a human at flight speed. If it didn't, he'd have a word with Que about installing them.

Feeling left out, Stormy started a game of grab-the-wingtip behind Barricade's helm, causing his sister to shriek in Barricade's audial, to Flareup's amusement.

After a short detour to the main hangar to put the flier away, Barricade and Flareup herded their excited little ones into the warm apartment, and got out a board game for them to play as they settled for recharge. They sat on the floor, and Barricade yielded pride of place to Flareup, who joined them to make the fourth the game required.

Megatron had been a glitched fool to think there was anything better than this, Barricade thought, preparing pre-recharge snacks. He had wasted so many vorn on that slagger, he wasn't going to squander another nanoklick.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Will Lennox looked out over the mob of people in the commons of Hangar B, and sighed.

The holiday party. He hadn't had to do anything except sign off on Sarah's plans, after removing the X-rated paragraph at the end of them (and thank Primus he could still read _everything_ he signed). The last two weeks, since the announcement that the gala would take place on the twenty-third, had been a constant negotiation with people who wanted it held earlier, or later, or called something else, dedicated only to one particular religion, or not held at all. Instead of sugarplums, the phrase "No, we are not" danced in his head.

No, we are not postponing because its date is inconvenient for you.

No, we are not calling it (insert one, and these were only those he remembered: Hanukkah, Freya's Day, Kwanzaa, Saturnalia, Sankrati), just "a party."

No, we are not roasting an entire boar/bison/ox.

No, we are not having your brother's death metal/father's bluegrass/sister's reggae band provide the music, even though they will play for free.

All that was done now, Will thought, spotting Sarah's and Annabelle's blond heads, and Amaranth's dark one; they were making a beeline for the sparklings and D'andre. Everyone came together to make merry.

Graham had put in place some complex formula of Prowl's devising that left a rotating skeleton crew on duty, which meant that everyone would get a chance to be here for at least a short time. Nice of him, Will thought, and descended the staircase.

The first part of the evening was frankly for the kids. Gift exchange, since a lot of personnel had leave over Christmas and were flying out tonight or tomorrow, and the biggest guy on the base, one Bart Bolling, was stuffed into the annual rented Santa suit.

Kind of Bolling, who was divorced, Will mused. The man also took Christmas Eve and Christmas morning shifts, so that those with small children could enjoy the holiday.

The older kids, of course, recognized Bart, a bear of a man, but for the little ones who still believed in Santa, a rented red suit, quite a lot of judicious padding, a long white beard, and the tumbled silver curls of a wig were enough to complete the illusion.

His girlfriend Diane, one of the nurses, was playing Santa's Helper this year. As Bart asked each child what he or she wanted for Christmas, he repeated the request: "Elf Diane! Add this to the list, won'cha?"

Parents who actually enjoyed the last and most frantic part of the holiday crowds were thus armed with knowledge, and a few who thought they had gotten it all done earlier received new and dismaying information.

Johnny Parker wanted a baseball, and a little pigtailed girl named Gwen wanted a tricycle. Annabelle wanted a new saddle for her pony. Then it was Amaranth's turn.

She was not sure about this whole idea of "sitting on Santa's lap." She had only learned about Santa recently, and knew that Bart did not really live at the North Pole, as she had often seen him eating breakfast in the Commons. But, for Annabelle's sake, she decided to play along, and asked for the set of drawing pencils that she had been wanting ever since she had seen them on her favorite art site. She didn't realize that Sarah, in the course of monitoring her children's internet use, had seen her giving the set a longing look. They were already gift-wrapped in Ironhide's subspace, along with a new saddle.

The sparklings came up, hesitantly—they were not sure about this Santa Claus business either.

Stormy and Song looked back at Barricade, who stayed close behind them, one servo on each small shoulder. Their footsteps lagged behind Skimmer's, though: he marched right up and chirped, "Hi, Santa!"

Bart grinned. "Ho ho ho! Hello, young mechling!" Like any member of NEST, Bart could easily bench-press far more than the sparklings' weight, but he was the only human on base whose size gave him enough leverage to lift and swing two-hundred-pound sparklings to sit on his knee.

Though, he thought to himself, stifling a grunt, the way they were growing, he wouldn't be doing that next year. "What can Santa bring you for Christmas?"

Skimmer said, "We want Mario Kart!"

"All three of you?"

Stormy and Song competed with Skimmer in explaining the vast variety of fun to be had playing Mario Kart.

Bart glanced up at Barricade, who nodded. "Well, I think that can be arranged. Elf Diane!"

"Got it, Santa!"

"Thank you, Santa!" "Thanks!" "Thank you!" piped the chorus of little seekers.

Bart laughed. "Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!"

Once every little one had visited with Santa, he handed out the kids' presents, and there was a flurry of flying gift wrap and bows. The commons degenerated into a riot of happily shrieking kids playing with things that beeped, whistled and zoomed around people's feet—and heads—as soon as beleaguered parents got them assembled and put in batteries.

Diarwen smiled at Carly, who was watching the chaos with an expression shifting between amusement and trepidation. "Just think—next year you will be a part of all this."

The young mother-to-be rested her hand on her baby bump. "I'm not entirely sure I'll be ready for that."

"How boring life would be if we were perfectly prepared for every experience of our lives," Diarwen replied with a warm smile.

Carly laughed. "You're right about that, Diarwen. A merry Yule to you."

Stormracer flapped overhead, pursued by a rather large remote-control helicopter, the controls of which were held by a giggling Lemarr Epps—who was himself being chased down by a harried-looking Monique. "Lemarr, Stormy—OUTSIDE!"

Over all the racket, speakers blared "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree."

The Chaos Marathon of New-toy Fun continued for a solid half-hour, Will watching as Amaranth and Annabelle played with a model of Ironhide and a Breyer horse, and then Annabelle went with the Epps kids and Amaranth got permission to play chess with an older boy who'd gotten a Games of Thrones set.

Sarah, as the party's organizer, got to ring the dinner bell: an enormous brass item. Graham, who had come prepared, was forced to augment the noise with a whistle.

Sarah had outdone herself, as had the other officers' wives, in adding to the galley's party catering. There were sugar-free, gluten-free, nut-free, meat-free, and vegan dishes, all clearly labeled with the ingredients. Ham and turkey, a beautiful platter of Monique Epps' fried chicken – and he'd better elbow Epps aside, Will thought, or he'd miss out on that.

Yes, he thought with satisfaction, if you couldn't stuff yourself into unconsciousness from _this_ table, you'd be in a hospital bed.

Diarwen helped herself to the fried chicken, the mashed potatoes, the green bean casserole topped by french-fried onion rings, and her own home-made whole-wheat rolls, as that seemed to be the humans' universal-celebration menu.

Good as it was, this only paved the stomach with protein and vitamins, a good strategy before laying in a thick coating of the nutrition-free deliciousness presented by a pot luck dessert bar.

Cakes, pies, a chocolate-peppermint trifle, Sarah's macaroons, marzipan, and a chocolate-covered devil's-food Yule log about half the size of the one they'd burned for Circle all sprawled in luxurious abandon across two more mess tables pushed together. Shoals of Christmas cookies swam around the outside, within easy reach of small hands, and in the center were five-foot piles of oil cakes and rust sticks for the Cybertronians.

A feast indeed. Diarwen was determined to have at least a taste of everything containing chocolate and/or peppermint. She might, or might not, draw the line at chocolate peppermint oil cakes.

Chip, Mikaela and Wheeljack were hanging out, the humans with plates of party food and the Cybertronian with a big piece of oil cake. Wheeljack excused himself to talk to Jolt for a few minutes.

Chip said, "Christmas is my favorite time of the year. I miss snow, though."

"I don't mind it on Christmas. Wouldn't want to have to shovel it the rest of the year," Kaela grinned. "What did you do on Christmas back home?"

"Well, it started on Christmas Eve. We'd drive back to Vanceburg, which is where my dad was from, while my grandparents were still living. We always went to church Christmas Eve, then Mom and Grandma would fix a big dinner Christmas Day."

Mikaela smiled. "Sounds like a Christmas card."

"I guess it was, kinda. I'm sorry, Kaela. I didn't think—I guess your dad didn't do much for Christmas."

"Not really...I kinda remember a Christmas tree when I was little, before Mom died. But Dad pretty much stayed drunk on holidays. I'd watch Christmas cartoons on TV, then when I got big enough I started cooking for myself and he'd have leftovers when he sobered up. Holidays really weren't much until I hooked up with these guys. After I broke up with Sam and went to Texas A&M, my roommates would all go home for winter break, so I started volunteering at the VA hospital."

"Ah." Chip enjoyed a mouthful of stuffing and gravy. "Do you want to go to church with me tomorrow night?"

Mikaela looked at him rather dubiously, across a plate of the tofurkey she was trying to be polite about, but would never voluntarily eat again. "I guess. I didn't know you were religious."

"I'm not, I mean...I wasn't. But I shouldn't even be here now, y'know? Don't think I'd be alive if the Man Upstairs didn't have a plan. It makes you think."

"Yeah. I was never religious either, but in Circle—I think I want to start studying towards initiation instead of just playing at it, you know?"

Chip frowned. "You mean, start practicing Diarwen's religion."

"Hers, and about a zillion Irish people's, before they became Catholics."

Chip set his plate in his lap. "I mean, as in, not Christian."

"Chip...that means a lot to you, doesn't it?"

"Look, Kaela, I love you. I thought we'd always be together. Not just here, but...in heaven too. If you take up another religion, you'll go wherever they go, not to a Christian heaven, right?"

Mikaela felt tears starting up in her eyes. "I love you too, Chip. I think you're-you know Sam was clinically dead in Egypt, right? You saw that. Well, he told me he saw, you know, this tunnel of light and everything, but instead of his ancestors or whoever, the Ancient Primes were there. Now if humans and Cybertronians go the same place after we die, I don't think human afterworlds are all that separate. Heaven, Summerland, the Well of All Sparks, I think it's all the same place."

Chip sighed. "That's not what I was raised to believe. I had an experience like that too. I saw my parents, and there was an angel who told me it wasn't my time, and I had to go back. An _angel_, Kaela."

"You're a Christian. Of course an angel was there."

"I don't want to lose you. I'm afraid you'll go to hell. I couldn't live with that."

"Chip..."

"Just think about it some more before you decide anything, OK? Please?"

"OK," Kaela said. "Does this mean you want to break up?"

"No! Not at all."

"Then I'll think about it. I promise."

Chip was…distracted, maybe that was the word, Mikaela thought. Mr. "I can shut down any party ever held" did not shut down this one, in fact left shortly after the sparklings and children did.

He said goodnight at his door, made a point of planning to see her the next day, but didn't invite her in.

Kaela wandered back toward the party, but sat down on the bottom step of the catwalk stairs rather than rejoining the celebration. Admin, to her left, was mostly dark, except for a couple of soldiers on monitor duty. Med-sci was also quiet, with only a skeleton crew on duty. It felt like everyone was enjoying the party except her. She just wasn't in the mood any more.

End Part 11


	12. Chapter 12

(Disclaimers in Part 1)

Chromia turned down the lights as Stormy joined his brother and sister on their perch on the back of the couch. A grounder through and through, she wanted to put them down in a nice warm sparkling berth, but they were seekers and that was what little seekers did if they weren't flying, or magnalocked to an adult: they perched. Once they matured enough to take on their fixed-wing youngling frames, they might transition to recharging on a berth, but Barricade had told her some of the 'Con seekers had continued to prefer to recharge on a perch well into adulthood.

"Starscream?" she'd asked, startled, and Barricade snorted.

"Screamer never reached adulthood, as far as I can tell."

Smiling at the memory, she snapped an image and sent it to Barricade, where it went straight into his "Sparkling Cuteness" file.

The door pinged, and she let Ratchet in. She felt a certain satisfaction that he still cringed around the edges of her field. She definitely still had it.

::They should be good for you. They wore themselves out playing chase with Lemarr's flying toy, and then they filled up their little tanks on energon goodies.::

::That's good. It'll give me a chance to help Alicia with some of her side of medbay's reports. Jolt will be here later.:: He sent a tentative cohort glyph, which Chromia returned, adding glyphs for _silly thick-helmed mech whom I dearly love anyway._

His relief on their receipt cheered her, though she hadn't forgiven him yet, exactly; that would take a while.

She went outside and enjoyed the crisp, starry night as she walked the short distance between the two hangars.

Her cohort bonds all echoed her own contentment. Ratchet was glad to take a break from the noisy party; Optimus and Ironhide were involved in discussion with Lennox; Flareup was dancing with Barricade, having finally got him out onto the floor.

Arcee also was enjoying the party with Jazz, Prowl, Jolt and, surprisingly, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Chromia was happy to notice now that they had Prowl back none of the bots returned to their old excuses to stay away from him. For his part, he had loosened up, somewhat, given that he had to always be aware of the possibility of a crash—and the twins, those chaos-magnets, had somehow gained enough sense not to endanger him willingly.

Yes, times had changed, and the mecha she knew and loved with them.

Evanon, Junior Epps, and Jason were right outside the door to Hangar B with a radio-controlled car that Junior had received. Jason, on crutches, had re-injured his ankle during their flight from Morithel. But all three were taking turns with the RC car's control, talking a mile a minute as they passed it back and forth.

The Brierlys had a red-eye out of Las Vegas and would be leaving for the airport right after the party. The changelings wouldn't see each other again until spring break.

She watched as Wheelie took on his alt form, a small blue RC truck, and got into a pretend-race with the toy.

He and Brains were so young themselves. It was good to see them catching up on some of the youth that war had denied them, throwing them instead into a hard-scrabble life the Autobots had rescued them from.

She warned him, "Be careful not to get too cold out here."

Wheelie snickered, "If I freeze up, someone will set me by a heater."

"Just don't go into stasis and get stepped on."

That was sensible advice. One Cybertronian was not going to accidentally step on another no matter what the size differential happened to be, because they were aware of one another's fields, and their proximity sensors would prevent it. Nothing, however, would prevent some large male human in combat boots from tromping on him in the dark, to the amusement of neither party at best. At worst, a small, relatively fragile bot like Wheelie—well, that didn't bear too much consideration.

"We will be careful for him," Evanon promised quietly. And she knew he would keep that promise, made to what he called the Lady of his House. She smiled at him, and went inside.

Chromia spotted Kara Brierly and went over to say hello. Whether or not the teacher knew it yet, as her fosterling's mother, Kara was Chromia's family. It would be good for them to get to know one another better.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

As the music ended, couples left the dance floor. Flareup and Barricade helped themselves to cubes of energon and sat the next one out. Flareup sipped her cube and said, "Now that was fun, admit it."

Barricade's facial cables twitched. "All right, it was fun, but I still dance like a glitch-mouse on high grade," he said, grudgingly.

"I guess the 'Cons didn't have dances."

"You mean you did?"

Flareup smiled at him. "Not every night, but Jazz organized something every orn or two, to keep morale up. Not always dances, sometimes movies or game nights. It would have gotten pretty dire, otherwise."

"When Sounders decided people needed a morale boost, we'd have a rally. Or if somebot scored enough high grade to pass around, we'd get together in that somebot's quarters. Nothing like this, though."

She tilted her helm. "Chromia says we're about the same age. Your folks lived three streets over from us."

"Yeah, that's what Ironhide said, that she knew my cohort. I never realized that, but then you guys lived up the cul-de-sac and you probably went up towards the causeway?" He swirled his high-grade, watching her intently.

"That's right."

"We always went down to the shops near the tracks, and then when I was older I'd go down there to try to get work."

A burst of noise caused both of them to look toward its source, but it was nothing, only human merriment. Flareup turned back, shook her head. "And the 'Cons recruited the day laborers down there. Primus. Arcee and I used to get day work ourselves, up by the causeway."

"Megs never tried to recruit up there because it was too close to the Enforcers' HQ. But you know how far apart we lived. Three slaggin' blocks, that's all. I could've gone either way back then, and I imagine you might have too."

"Well...I would have done whatever Chromia did, and she and Ironhide? Being Optimus' foster-parents…the Autobots were a choice they would have made anyway. But Optimus and Megatron were close when I was a femmeling. He came to our house a lot. The two of them could have just as easily ended up as reformers together, and that's how it should have been. I don't know how we ended up fighting a war; it would have been a lot simpler to fix things."

"I don't know that they could have been fixed. There wasn't enough energon to go around, but the high-castes kept sparking new mecha instead of taking care of the ones we already had. Most of Cybertron's wealth was concentrated in their hands, while we barely had enough to get by."

"I know. You should have been there with us when Megatron and Optimus started quoting the Primes and the Protectors, and arguing about how to make sure everyone had enough. Which economists had the right idea about how to fix things. But then the riots started—and Megatron murdered Guardian, and then the rest of the Council, except Optimus and Sentinel. I couldn't believe he'd done it at first, until he took credit for assassinating Guardian."

"Me either. Because the same orn it happened, he was yelling at Sideways and some of them about not encouraging the rioting. He didn't think we were ready to move yet, and thought the Enforcers would round us all up if we didn't stay out of it. After Zeta Prime was killed they weren't tolerating any more dissent."

Barricade took her cube and his own, and collected another for both: the high-grade, this time. He put a servo under her elbow, and found a quieter spot to talk in.

"Then Guardian was shot," he said, the red eyes locked on her blue ones, "and Megatron told the press he did it, and who was I to say anything? But I don't know how many times I've gone over everything that happened that night. We were all down at Shockwave's place in the far end of Lowtown and there just wasn't time for him to get all the way over to the nobles' quarter, shoot Guardian, and get back before I saw him again. He might have ordered it, but I don't think he could have been the shooter."

Flareup gave him a long look. "Maybe someone he cared about did it, and he took the blame for them?" she said dubiously. That wasn't the kind of thing Megatron had done, not in her experience.

Barricade shrugged. "I think he knew he was going to get blamed anyway, so he made use of it to recruit more disaffected mecha to our side. But then, after he did that, he didn't have any choice except to turn a protest movement into a revolution."

"But if Megs didn't start the war, who did?"

"Who stood to gain?" Barricade swirled the energon in his cube.

"Sentinel. He's the only one, isn't he?" Flareup said, frowning.

"Or whoever was hoarding that energon under the Hall. You can't tell me Megsy was dumb enough to stand on top of a bomb he was about to detonate. He wouldn't have been on the steps if he'd known. And Starscream sure wouldn't have known; that glitch would have used the knowledge to blackmail Megatron."

"No one was hoarding energon there. Optimus got into the government quarter through those old tunnels. He rescued an old bum who saw someone bringing it in. We assumed all these vorn it was your mecha."

"Well, if it was, I didn't know anything about it, and even though I was pretty new in the ranks then, low in the hierarchy, word would have gotten out, and I'd have heard. Anyway, if we'd had that much energon, we'd have distributed it or used it to recruit, just like every other time we got our servos on extra."

"Yeah, well, like I said, it comes back to Sentinel. That slagger was a traitor from the get-go."

"I can't say one way or the other. I never saw the mech until probably a vorn after that. But I did see him with Megatron then."

"He was using both sides," Flareup said. "He had everything all planned out. If Optimus hadn't insisted on being presented for elevation, Sentinel would have been the last Prime, with Optimus as his heir. He would have destroyed your movement and blamed you for everything, and he would have been Cybertron's hero."

"Except he got caught in his own explosion...and by the time he got out of the hospital, Optimus was the big hero, and we were dug into Kaon. So Sentinel didn't have a choice except fight the war either—then pretend to Megsy and the Fallen that he was their mole. You're right. It's the only thing that makes sense."

Flareup shuddered. "So now Cybertron is gone and we're holed up here and it's all the fault of one glitched madmech? Is that what we're saying?"

"If I could drag him out of the Pit and kill him again myself, I swear I would."

Jazz came over and sprawled on the back of the couch they were sitting on. "Why so serious?"

"I think we just put two and two together and got an irrational number," Barricade said. "OK, see what you think of this." He outlined their speculation.

Jazz nodded. "Ah think you're right. But you're missing some of it. Something we never knew back then. The Fallen turned Megsy onto dark energon. Mecha get onto that stuff because they're desperate, or they think it'll give 'em a ginormous power boost. It does. But it also glitches them worse'n anything else Ah ever ran across. Blood of Unicron, they call it. Turns the weak, like empties, into what the humans call zombies—but the strong-willed? They end up like the Fallen, or Megsy. Ah don't know if Sentinel used it or not, but Ah don't think he could have carried on the charade he did for all those vorn if he had been. Listen t' me, though. Does knowin' who to blame it on make any difference? They're dead, all three of 'em. It don't matter any more. We're here, an' we got a new start. There's no percentage in goin' back over it now."

"You may be right, Jazz," Flareup said.

"What started all this?"

"We grew up three streets over from each other and we never knew at the time. And it was just luck which sides of the war we ended up on."

"Well, we're all on the same one now. The one that's gonna rebuild everything."

"Here? We're going to rebuild Cybertron here, on the humans' planet? I don't think they'll go along with that, Jazz." Barricade shook his helm.

"Yeah, but it won't be Cybertron-that-was that we'll rebuild. It'll be something brand new, for all of us. It can be a whole new start for the humans, too, if they want it to be. Or, even if most of 'em don't, some of 'em might want to throw in with us."

Prowl came over. "Jazz. What is this serious discussion?"

Jazz' visor lit up at the sight of his bonded. "Oh, just where we been and where we're goin' from here!"

"Figuratively or literally?"

"Mostly the former."

Flareup said, "We were talking about things that no longer matter outside a history class, my friend."

Jazz said, "Oh. Ah almost forgot why Ah came over here. They want you to play a dance set or two, Flareup."

Flareup said, "All right, but I want you to do the percussion parts. You're better at that."

"But Ah'm comfortable," Jazz complained, and entered into what Prowl categorized as "full lollygag" along the top of the couch.

Prowl smiled.

"If you want to put up with my pathetic drum synths..." Flareup said.

"All right, all right, we don't want to bust anybot's audio receptors," Jazz mock-grumbled. The four of them went back to the DJs' area and Flareup took control of the synthesizer. She improvised on some of the humans' less religious holiday music, then tossed out a link to Jazz, who laid in a complicated beat and synced the party lights to it. The floor quickly filled.

Barricade and Prowl helped themselves to some high grade while they listened to the music, and drank, in an amity that neither had guessed would ever exist between them.

In time, Prowl thought, they might acknowledge the old links between their former cohorts, which had both originated in Praxus. Their cohorts had exchanged members many times over the vorn, but those days were long gone. For now it was enough to make a beginning on setting the old enmities aside.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Ordinarily, Mikaela would have been out on the dance floor, but she wasn't in the mood for it. She looked up as Diarwen and Mo joined her at the steps. Diarwen asked, "What is wrong? Is Chip not feeling well?"

"No, he's OK, I think. We just...kinda had a disagreement."

"An argument? Am I too forward to ask what happened?"

"No, it wasn't an argument, exactly. I told Chip that I was thinking about studying towards initiation. He didn't take it well."

"Ah. His religion is not known for its tolerance of pagan faiths, Mikaela."

"He's upset. He's afraid I'll go to hell."

"Kaela, do you share his concerns?"

"No. I didn't believe in hell even before I started coming to the study group. But the important thing is, Chip does believe in it. Once a Ranger, always a Ranger, and they don't do well when they see someone they care about in danger, if they can't do anything about it."

Monique smiled. "They also are very strong-willed, determined people. They don't change their beliefs without very good reasons and a lot of persuasion. Bobby and I had been married for less than two years before we stumbled across a real divide in our religion. We finally settled it, but I'm pretty sure it was only the fact that we already had one on the way that got us there. Be patient with him."

"That's not hard," the young engineer said, twisting the ring of her profession."I won't pursue it if it's going to upset him that bad. I can't change what I believe, but I don't have to shove it in his face, and it won't kill me to go to church with him now and then."

Diarwen felt herself scowling, and deliberately altered her expression. "Mikaela, if you—as they say today—go in the broom closet, you may never get out."

"That wouldn't be the end of the world. But if I buy the farm next week and Chip thinks I took the express elevator straight down, that could be the end of _his_ world. I won't do that to him; he's already had his world come to an end once, and that's enough for this lifetime. If he isn't already dealing with PTSD, I don't know how he wouldn't be, after that. I think I'm in a stronger place than he is right now, so I'm the one who has to cut him some slack, not the other way around. I'm not saying I'm going to pretend to be a church lady, but I'm not going to mention anything else to him about becoming a Pagan, either. Not unless and until I'm sure he won't react the way he did this evening."

"You must do what you feel is right," Diarwen said, laying a hand on her friend's shoulder.

Mo said, "Diarwen, you don't have a dog in this fight, OK? They don't call it the home front for nothing. Our soldiers aren't the only ones who make sacrifices. We do too. Mikaela's the only one who knows if this is one that she has to make."

"I apologize. You are right, Monique. It is not my place to judge, I am sorry if I have done so. I am...Mikaela, I am only concerned for you. I know that your father tried to teach you that it was always your responsibility to smooth things over at home—such is the way where children of alcoholics are concerned, for alcoholics are ultimately selfish. They teach their children to sacrifice, without thought for whether that sacrifice is truly in the best interests of the child. Your reasons are good ones, if they are not influenced by that upbringing."

"That's a valid point. I'll think about what you said. But, Diarwen, Chip isn't my father."

"Well do I know that. Perhaps if he were to speak to that young chaplain, Reverend Jim?"

"Do you think that might help?"

"I do. He is a Unitarian Universalist. Many pagans belong to that church, for their beliefs can be quite inclusive. He may be able to help Chip to feel less threatened by other paths to the Divine, so that he does not fear so deeply for you. I am glad that you told me this, for I would not wish to cause him any more stress either. Chip has a great deal of talent in performing energy work, and that is something that he must learn to control, or it will control him. If he feels threatened by us, he may withdraw, and his church will not teach him what he needs to know. It will not be difficult to tailor our lessons around his sensitivities. All of you need to learn that skill; we will simply concentrate on that for a time."

"I see," Mikaela said thoughtfully.

But the priestess had another string to her bow, and an arrow she was duty-bound to loose. "Mikaela, if Brigit has chosen you, then do you truly wish to ignore Her?"

"Diarwen, She married Bres for the good of Her people. I think She'll understand deferring my _wants_ in favor of Chip's _needs_."

The Sidhe bowed her head. "Yes. She understands that completely."

Mikaela smiled. "Okay then. I'll think about what you've both said, but Chip…if we're not in circle for a couple of weeks, Diarwen, don't worry about us. I'll come talk to you before I make any decision." The engineer gave them a long hug. "I'm grateful beyond words to you both. Let's go raid the dessert table. I need some sugar to think with."

The three of them went to the galley in search of empty calories, chocolate, and peppermint, then joined the circle of onlookers ringing the dance floor.

Bobby came over and pulled Mo out to cut the rug with him, a task requiring very little effort at all.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Jolt pinged Ratchet from just outside Barricade's door, because he didn't want to wake up the sparklings. Ratchet let him in and they exchanged places with the practiced silence of those who tended the sick.

The CMO hurried between the buildings, hunched down with his armor flared. It was getting seriously cold out there. A few bundled-up soldiers were passing a football under the streetlights, and a mixed group of younglings were hanging out with Bumblebee, whose engine rumbled quietly to keep them all warm.

He ducked back into the noise and flashing lights of the party in the main hangar. His intention had been to grab a snack and go to his berth, but his quarters were in this building. He'd have to offline his audio receptors in order to recharge with this going on, something no medic was ever comfortable doing.

Instead, he got a cube of high-grade. Glancing around, he saw Boggs and Parker, and went to join them.

"And I swear," Parker said, gesticulating with a sandwich, "those _assholes_ said that because one single form out of fifty-eight wasn't properly filled in, they had to reject the claim, and we get to start all over again! Hello, Ratchet."

"Doctors," he said. "Insurance, I take it?"

"Indeed, in fact, and in total abeyance of any process known as 'common sense," Boggs agreed. "Your people don't have insurance, do they, Ratchet?"

"No, and I have many times thanked Primus for that," he said. "However, I can listen to people complain about levels of bureaucracy all day, every day, even if I have nothing to add to the bitchfest."

The two women laughed. Boggs said, "That's about forty-seven useful concepts your people have picked up from us humans that I've logged so far."

Diarwen appeared on the horizon, and several nearby bots felt Ratchet's attention sharpen, and focus on her. She, however, was fully engaged in a chat with Graham and a civilian contractor, and did not turn her head.

The bitchfest morphed into a gossip session. Boggs, having already taken a turn watching medbay, was enjoying the organics' version of high-grade, but Parker was staying sober because she had to relieve Henderson in an hour.

Boggs took a turn on the dance floor with a young lieutenant, one of the pilots. Ratchet and Parker continued to gossip, with occasional ascent into bitchfest.

Once Flareup finished her set, Jazz took over the mix table and kept the dance music coming while Flareup rejoined Barricade.

Skids tripped over his own peds, and Mudflap said, "OK, party's over, bro."

"What? The night's still young!"

"Unless you wanna purge on the dance floor again?"

"OK, OK." The two of them went off to their quarters.

Barricade said to Flareup, "I think it's probably time for me to get back to the Trine. Walk with me?"

"Sure." The two of them said good night to a few people on their way out, then went back to Barricade's place so that Jolt could catch the end of the party if he wanted to.

The sparklings were sound asleep. Barricade made sure the thermostat was set high enough. ::Stay?::

She smiled. ::Yes.::

He locked the door and, since the sofa was taken, they sprawled on the floor to try to figure out why the looped image of a burning fireplace was so fascinating. It must be, they decided, a human thing, but it made a nice nightlight for the sparklings.

Flareup had subspaced a cube of high grade. They shared it as Christmas Eve began.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Back at the party, Jolt dragged a seat over to Ratchet and Parker, and they included him in the gossip session. Just before the clock struck twelve, Parker got up reluctantly and apologized, "Duty calls. See you tomorrow!"

"Good joor," Ratchet replied.

Their high grade cubes were empty. As it was Ratchet's turn to remedy that, he took the cubes back to get fresh ones. The energon locker was next to the human galley, where Diarwen was refilling her eggnog from a punch bowl which had appeared after the littles' bedtime.

Lennox saw the two of them in close proximity and detoured over that way. Extra-casual, you know, just happened to be walkin' in this direction.

Or at least that's what he hoped his body language said, because theirs clearly broadcast an imminent Defcon III.

Diarwen said, with an exaggerated formality which was not helped by the serious discussion with Mikaela and a few previous trips to the punch bowl, "Good joor."

Ratchet's reply was a surly grunt that could loosely have been translated, "And to you as well." Then he looked at her and ran a scan. "Do you realize that your blood alcohol is nearly 1.2?"

"'M off duty t'night, an' I will be tomorrow as well. An' yer point would be?"

"For an organic of your size, intoxication occurs much more rapidly. You are becoming inebriated.."

"Ho, then, Sir Pot, I am Kettle, pleased to make your acquaintance!"

Lennox snorted, and texted OP, "D & R galley, running interference."

The reply, "Acknowledged," was immediate. While Optimus made his way through the crowd, Lennox casually stepped between the two of them while sticking his cup under the cola dispenser. He grinned disingenuously. "Great party, huh?"

Diarwen nodded, "Aye, it is that, would you not agree, Master Healer?"

That she used the correct title annoyed him. She wasn't supposed to understand those things. "It was an hour ago. Now it's loud, and going on too long when I've got to go on shift second joor, and it's too fraggin' cold to sleep in alt mode in the parking lot."

Lennox said, "It's starting to break up, Ratch, I've seen several people leaving. Go ahead and call it a night, I'll tell Jazz to keep it down to a small riot."

Diarwen's cup splashed its contents over her hand. While her state of inebriation may or may not have had anything to do with that, Ratchet said, "You have had enough."

She set the cup down. "I do not see that it is any concern of yours, sir."

Ratchet said, "Anyone who can do what you're capable of doing needs to be in control of herself."

"Do you make the accusation that I am not?"

"As much as you ever are, maybe, but the booze isn't helping."

Diarwen took a step clear of Lennox, affronted. "Your drink affects you as well, to so malign a lady's sense of self-control," she replied coldly. "If I ever again should desire your opinion on anything, be assured that I will ask for it, but until then, kindly keep your opinions to yourself."

"What?"

"Would you prefer it in slang? If I wish your opinion I shall rattle your cage."

Ratchet turned toward her—that was all he did, overtly—but his aura flared, and even Lennox could see the situation escalate to DEFCON 2: nuclear war was imminent, and poisonous fallout threatened a lot of people he cared about.

Diarwen took the gesture and the aura flare for the threats they were, and raised her hand, instinctively calling her Element.

Fire responded.

Lennox snapped, "Stand down, both of you!"

Diarwen, overcome by that flash of her long-lost magic, was too stunned to argue, and Ratchet had been in the military so long that he simply obeyed an order given in an officer's tone of voice, no matter how many drinks he'd had.

While there might well be questions about chain of command if the situation persisted, for the moment, Lennox had things under control.

And that was enough, because Optimus arrived, his strong fields gently but forcefully calming the Sidhe's, and his cohort member's as well. "What is all this about?"

Lennox said, "Nothing much, but I think it's time to close the bar."

Optimus nodded, and sent a locking glyph to the high grade cabinets, leaving Lennox to deal with the human potables.

Jolt minced over; that was not his usual gait, but he was carefully putting one ped in front of the other to avoid falling on his faceplates. "Come on, Ratch, let's get along."

Still grumbling, Ratchet got along.

Diarwen said, "Optimus. For a moment, my magic came back."

He held out his servo to her. "Come with me, and tell me about it."

"Aye. I think that best." She snatched up her cup and an assortment of cookies, heavy on the chocolate, peppermint, or combination of both, and stepped onto his palm without a visible sign of having been drinking all evening.

All the same, Optimus was very careful as he lifted her to his shoulder strut.

The party was breaking up in earnest by then. He avoided letting anyone see him take Diarwen into his quarters by the simple expedient of entering his office, and went through it to the place they were both beginning to think of as home.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

The Cybertronian medical staff were experiencing other difficulties. Jolt got Ratchet into his apartment, which took a lot of effort on the junior medic's part, and this when he wanted to stay happily…not drunk. He wasn't drunk. What was that phrase Graham used? Oh, yes: nicely, thank you.

Jolt wished that he had thought to subspace a cube of high-grade. Such would likely get him yelled at, but at the moment, it seemed worth it. He heaved Ratchet into his berth, and came another unwelcome step nearer sobriety.

The CMO landed in a heap, mostly on the berth, and Jolt let the high-grade decide that "some limbs dangling" was good enough.

He stumbled back out into the living room, fully intending to return to his own quarters.

But someone seemed to have moved the door. It was now officially Too Far Away to Cope With.

And the floor looked inviting, the high-grade thought. Collapsing into an ungainly pile, Jolt dropped straight into recharge.

Five hours later, he onlined his optics to see flat gray. Odd, his berth was not gray...he focused on, and was puzzled by, a sideways sofa. Then his aching processor cleared just enough for him to realize it wasn't the sofa that was sideways.

Ratchet stumbled out of his berth, and went straight past him toward that faraway door, which suddenly didn't seem to be so far away after all.

Jolt rolled up and levered himself up to his skidplate. The contents of his helm thundered off its inside walls, but eventually, thought processes occurred.

He was on the floor.

He was on _Ratchet's_ floor.

He had no idea how he had finished the night on Ratchet's floor.

That must have been one Pit of a party ...

"Ratchet?" he said, just as the medic opened the door.

Ratchet turned, mouthplates agape. "Jolt?" he said, sounding both puzzled and hungover. "What are you doing here?"

Jolt rose to his feet to face his Craftmaster. "I was really hoping," he said, "that _you_ could tell _me_."

End Part 12


	13. Chapter 13

(Disclaimers in Part 1)

Soundwave sent word that it was time. The base was quiet; more important, Optimus Prime, both sets of spark-split twins, and the Wreckers had all been seen to go off-base, and satellite coverage placed none of them within 20 minutes' travel time; the Wreckers and the younger set of twins were in fact a good four hours away.

All the better. The first three were in a human place called "Las Vegas," too far away to arrive in time for the fun…if the raiding party could complete their tasks in twenty or fewer minutes from go, that is.

Lugnut parked himself along one of the human roads that ran near the enemy's base. Not the closest; no point in making things easy for the slaggers. The empty rented trailer was unhitched, unlocked, and left to wait for their return.

Soundwave sent, "And…go!"

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Amaranth and Annabelle were having a gigantically good time. Barricade's quarters held the two femmelings, one more little girl, a fourth in the person of Skysong, Johnny Parker, and Skimmer-and-Stormy. The two next-to-youngest Epps kids had been there for a while, but had left when Barricade judged it too dark and cold out to play soccer.

They were having a Christmas Eve party, and it was tremendous fun. The ex-Decepticon had volunteered to watch the kids so that their parents could perpetrate some well-intentioned fraud involving a fat old bearded man and his even-toed ungulates, one of which seemed to be Cybertronian, or else a very odd mutant. One or the other left gifts for the children, or this was what he gathered from several excited retellings of the story perpetrated by the company at hand, none of whom were more than five Earth years old.

No one had ever bothered to tell Amaranth about this holiday, and she was in consequence one of two humans present to retain some semblance of sanity, the other being Evanon, presently on snack patrol.

Barricade, who completely lacked any instructions to the contrary about not running in the house, lived in, from a human sparkling's viewpoint, an extremely large playground. A playground whose climbing apparatus/furniture was _enormous_. And enormous fun, too.

The children who had not tired themselves out yet were playing hide-and-seek. Amaranth was hiding; she was always the second to do so. The kids never chose her to go first after they'd found out how good she was at hiding, though she was equally adept at seeking. Presently, the eight-foot jumble of large opened boxes Barricade kept under the kitchen table provided great cover, and Sara would have smiled to see Amaranth cover her mouth to keep in the giggles as the other children thundered past within two feet of her.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

The two seekers took flight. Soundwave let pass the precise length of time needed for them to cover 85.7% of the distance to the base, and sent, "Go!" to Warp.

The humans, clutched in his servos, were not entirely comfortable. One of them had his own servos over his optics, but then Warp warped, and they were outside the back of the building the med bay occupied. It was dark there, and the sentries were, as Soundwave promised, elsewhere. Warp put the humans down, gently enough, he thought, though one of them staggered and the other went to his hands and knees and ejected the contents of his fuel tank.

Warp didn't stop; he had an appointment with the antenna farm, Soundwave had promised them all a cube upon completion of the raid, and he was as hungry as any other teenage male during a growth spurt.

Warp found he could wreck four antenna mounts at once, with very little noise, in a couple of hundred nanoclicks for each set of four. Less than two clicks later, he left what had been a standard antenna farm and now looked like a sixties pop-art installation, and warped back to the trailer, where he clutched Flatline to himself and warped to the base's motor pool.

The burden was almost too much for the young warper. He and Flatline landed in the dust, sprawling, and Flatline got up first, planting a ped in the youngling's rib struts.

"Get up, kid! Get to work!"

The sentries at the motor pool the youngling simply warped elsewhere, too far away to be a nuisance: nearly at the end of Warp's range. He would not harm them unless he had to.

Flatline had no such inhibitions. He laid the last one in the dirt, and might have been disgusted, later, to find that he had not even permanently injured the human, let alone killed him.

Warp had too little experience of the creatures to know if this one was alive or dead. He warped it out of the way, and set to throwing the vehicles between themselves and the energon cubes out of the way.

By that time a thunderous din from the main hangar area told them that Lugnut and Blitzwing were making themselves known. The two at the motor pool kept up their own cacophony.

They did not hear Jazz' comm, but every other Autobot did, Jazz' voice stoic and steady as he sent, ::We have at least two Decepticons inside the base. I repeat, we have two Decepticons inside base perimeter. Presently they are attacking the hangar. I say again, they are presently attacking the hangar.::

A deafening crash of rending metal ended Jazz' transmission, and very nearly ended his life. Lugnut found himself facing a Prowl who was _not_ going to allow the big Decepticon offline his partner when they had so recently been reunited, and Lugnut swiftly rued his choice of targets.

Ironhide and Blitzwing had old scores to settle, and set about this.

The noise roused Cybertronians living in the main hangar building, and Chip Chase, Mikaela Barnes, and Jack Binns raised their heads from contemplation of poker hands.

Chip threw in a winning hand, or so he'd hoped. "Kaela," he said, Jack being off duty at the time, "would you put my sports chair over here? Sounds like we might have some fun in the offin'."

Jack, however, stood: being off duty be damned. "I'll do that if you'll get our jackets."

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Barricade had been reading "The Night Before Christmas" aloud to a fascinated audience, four of whom had piled into his lap, two of his three sparklings among them.

The balance of the human sparklings, less one, sped through his apartment, giggling with Christmas-Eve nerves.

Stormy completed this group. They were, the seekerling explained to Barricade, playing hide-and-go-seek. This game crossed species barriers; Barricade had played it too when he was a sparkling. (It translated out of Cybertronian, though, as "run-and-scream-and-seek," a much more appropriate name, he thought.)

Now, Jazz' comm ringing in his processor, he said quietly to his audience, "I need to take a break here. Let me talk to Evanon for a moment, okay?"

"You come back and finish?" said the non-Cybertronian sparkling, hope shining in her big optics.

Barricade smiled at her. "I will, but maybe Evanon will read to you while I'm gone for a few minutes, all right?"

"'K." She scrambled down, Skimmer courteously giving her a hand.

Barricade rose in a fashion he made sure was leisurely and approached Evanon, who was constructing snacks in the kitchen. Had he not been distracted, he might have noted that the run-and-scream-and-seek group was short one member. Amaranth, however, did not give herself away from her position under the table.

The big ex-Decepticon stopped next to Evanon, who was carefully assembling snacks for the children, human variety, already having assembled oil cakes and a highly flavored carbonated (a bad habit the humans had taught them) mid-grade for the sparklings. He said very quietly, "I've just gotten a comm that the base is under attack. I'm going outside to guard the sparklings. Will you take over?"

Evanon, hands frozen in his task by this news, said, "Yes. If I need to evacuate them, how can you let me know?"

Barricade sent a pulse which turned the TV on, and set it to Las Vegas' PBS channel, playing a seven-hour-long Yule log program. "I'll use the TV to talk to you." He hesitated a moment, and Evanon, prosaically finishing his tasks, looked at him curiously. "I'd be surprised if I needed to tell you this, Evanon, but don't show the kids fear or excitement, all right?"

"No, you need not have told me that, but it is as well to make sure, is it not?" The larger human sparkling smiled at him. "Be well, and we shall see you shortly."

Barricade touched his shoulder lightly in thanks, and stepped out into the cold, clear night.

Amaranth, who had heard every word of this conversation, left the kitchen and went inside the adult-human-height thermal reciprocal channel that did the work of heating and cooling the bots' quarters, which she and other sparklings were not supposed to know about: it was hidden behind the two-story-high sofa. She ran down the long channel which lead to the outside, and clambered under the opening which was too small for an adult.

There was a strange certainty within her. This was what she needed to be doing. This was what she was born for: battle.

Amaranth Lennox, four years old, followed the noises of combat to her destiny.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

In Las Vegas, Optimus, who with Diarwen had chosen to attend a function the press would later describe as "glittering," stiffened, and bent to her. "The base is under attack. Will you make our excuses?"

Diarwen smiled at him as if he had just said something witty, and found the wife of the local police chief: the nearest quasi-big wig. She would understand, Diarwen hoped, and she did: while by no means the hostess of the event, she knew that when duty called, you left. She went to find the organizer, and let him know what had happened to call two of the most glittering guests away.

Although that woman…had she no idea that one dressed up for these things? Really, a tunic and leggings, even velvet tunic and leggings worn with delicate high heels…and that braid! Well, if one were so uncivilized as to never cut one's hair, no matter how dramatically silver it was…she huffed off to find the organizer, carefully ignoring that she wished she had the courage, and the figure, to dress like that.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were at a gallery celebration across town for a local Dineh artist; they made similar excuses. Sunstreaker was quite puzzled when one of the non-artists said, "Godspeed, and be safe," but he had no time to look that up.

At the more glittering of the gatherings, Optimus transformed, sent word to the troopers of the Nevada Highway Patrol and Las Vegas Metropolitan Police of what had happened, asking that the road to the base be closed to all but emergency traffic as Diarwen leapt into his cab.

Then he said, very politely, "And if you can give me escort at 260 mph, I would be very grateful."

He was kicked up through several levels of bureaucracy before he got a definitive answer to that one ("We'd love to but we don't have anything that fast"), and by that time he had not yet escaped the clutches of Las Vegas entirely. It was late enough on Christmas Eve for the roads to be almost deserted anywhere else, but Las Vegas never closes.

Diarwen sat tensely at his wheel, her silver sandals in a tangle on his seat and her boots firmly back on her feet.

The Big Twins were far behind them, swearing at urban traffic, and sometimes using said traffic's radios to tell the drivers _to get out of the fraggin' way,_

Warp at this point had tossed his own way through a traffic jam and arrived at the trailer most of the cubes sat on. He set about frantically sealing them, then storing as many as he could in his subspace. Flatline helped him gather a double armful, and then the youngling warped to the trailer, kicked the door open, threw the cubes inside, unsubspacing those he'd carried and piling them in too. Then he closed the door again before he warped back.

On arrival he could tell that battle had been joined at the hangar. Ironhide, from the sound of it, was taking on Blitzwing; Chromia, perhaps, contesting with Lugnut?

He was right, but he had no time to stop to verify this insight.

Nor did Ratchet. Prowl's frantic comm that Jazz was down had sent him scrambling out of med bay, and he charged the obstreperous Lugnut with his saw upraised and running.

Lugnut dropped Jazz, whose limp body he had been pounding unmercifully, and Prowl was tooth-and-talon at him, needing no weapons at all to make Lugnut's life very interesting, despite their difference in size.

Sam got out of Bee as Bee slid to a stop to the side of the main hangar, just as Warp left for the second time; Sam saw the flash of warp but didn't interpret it correctly. Skywarp, after all, had been offlined.

He dropped his duffel as Graham threw a Carl Gustav recoilless rifle to him, followed by a bag of Ironhide's special rounds, and went back for a second for himself. Sam hefted the weapon and its ammo, and turned in the direction of the nearest battle sounds—they were under attack not just here but—toward the motor pool?

Mikaela, Chip, and Jack were almost at the armory at this point. The NEST troops' leader deployed his men with hand signs, saw the three, got them armed, and deployed them as well, with Chip, the only one among who knew the gestures, translating.

Parker's beautiful little ultra did a seven-twenty out of the hangar and fell a hundred feet onto the airstrip, impelled by Blitzwing. Sam noted it and felt a pang of regret for Skysong, but didn't stop to mourn. A group from NEST swept him up with them, and they all sprinted in the direction of the battle at the hangar.

Amaranth was perhaps fifty feet behind them, and losing ground to her short legs. She saw someone she did not know race past her, then do a neck-wrenching about-face. But Blitzwing took that moment to throw a heavy piece of wreckage in his direction, and he went down, out of the rest of the battle.

Amaranth ran to him and took his rocket launcher. The Carl Gustav was almost as tall as she was, and very heavy. She didn't let that stop her, and continued on her way.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

In the motor pool area, Warp subspaced the last of the cubes he could carry and covered a few more, tearing down a nearby camo net to tote them in.

NEST troops, Flatline discovered, were not discouraged by having vehicles thrown at them. Nonetheless the tiny soft things could be taken out by that, thought it left him open to their projectile weapons. He had no other options, however, and continued to toss Humvees.

Blitzwing looked beyond Chromia, whom he had just given a pretty good clip, to note that three fleshbags – or so he thought of Mikaela, Jack, and Chip— were firing their pesky weapons at him. One of them had the effrontery to be _sitting down_ to do battle with him! Blitzwing roared, and charged.

Amaranth gasped. That – Decepticon – was attacking _her_ Chip! She fired twice. The first shot missed Blitzwing but provided a severe inconvenience to Lugnut, who caught it in the shoulder and was spun into Ironhide's grasp by the momentum it imparted to him, though it didn't do him any direct damage.

Ironhide happily set about remedying this state of affairs, to his surprise receiving a comm from Barricade that Lugnut favored his left servo and was slower with the right. He put this information to good use.

Amaranth's second shot took out Blitzwing's left optic, and he roared and grabbed at the wound with one servo, then flew over the melee below, and out of the main doors at the front of the building.

Lugnut got in a very lucky shot and got space from Ironhide just as Warp commed them that he was leaving the medbay area with two humans and a protoform.

Flareup let out a sudden, infuriated shriek and transformed, roaring down the access road with Arcee in hot pursuit.

Lugnut blasted off too, and the engagement was over.

Will Lennox did not know this when he spotted his baby girl with a Carl Gustav on her shoulder, standing foursquare and unafraid in the middle of a battle against the Decepticons. "Amaranth!" he shouted, his heart squeezing painfully. "See if you can get that man to cover and _stay with him_! That's an _order_, young lady!"

Obediently, she raced to the injured soldier. He had recovered consciousness and was trying to drag a body whose left arm and leg had both been fractured to cover. She helped him, as much as a forty-pound child can help a grown man in battle gear, and they got there.

A small Cybertronian Will had never seen before whizzed past him, and he took aim at it, but Ratchet's voice said, "Colonel, it's Ratchet! This is my remote! You have some troops trapped under a flatbed in the motor pool. Excuse me, please!"

It zipped away. Will would later find that Ratchet had handed off to Jolt immediately upon Jazz' becoming stable, Parker having radioed him of her inability to get to her patients.

The main hangar was a mess. In what was left of the aircraft parking, Ironhide and Chromia were wrapped in one another's arms, Ironhide on his knees to accommodate their difference in height. He nodded to his Charge, and Will saluted him.

There was not a great deal of damage to the balance of the building, he noted, grateful for small favors.

Out of the corner of one eye, he saw the wounded soldier being loaded into an ambulance, Amaranth scrambling after. Guilt and relief flooded him.

The motor pool, when he got there, reminded him far too much of Chicago.

Parker at this point had her patients in front of her. Ratchet's remote, which was no taller than Lennox himself, left rooster tails of dust behind it on its way back to medbay.

"Who's on in medbay?" he said to her in surprise.

"Henderson," she said, not taking her hands away from what she was doing. She was dressed in pale-blue pajamas with yellow duckies on them under a pink robe, but she'd put her boots on. "The entire medical staff responded, and Boggs is there too. But when I left, Colonel, these two and your man in the hangar were the only major casualties. We got lucky."

He surveyed several million dollars' worth of damage in two distinct areas, unaware as yet of the theft of the protoform. He thought of his daughters, the one safe in Medbay, the other asleep, he hoped, in their quarters. "Yeah," he said. "We did."

Flareup and Arcee came back to the motor pool area from the high ground to the southeast. Flareup was very agitated, and Arcee was attempting to calm her twin. The two of them stopped to check on the situation at the motor pool.

"What's going on here?" said a deep, authoritative voice, and Optimus Prime rolled to a stop, transforming as Diarwen jumped down from his cab. The Big Twins rolled up, transformed as well, and came to stand behind him.

Will Lennox straightened. "Nothing now, Optimus. We got raided by two separate squads of Decepticons, it looks like. There's damage here and in the main hangar. I haven't been told what your casualties are yet."

"They're pretty minor, outside of Jazz: Lugnut took him down. He'll recover fully in an orn," Ratchet said, arriving in alt form.

The night was more or less over, except for the reports and the paperwork.

Will pulled out his cell, but got no signal—of course, the cell tower had been hit along with everything else at the antenna farm. He cursed. "Ratchet, could you please call the landline at my apartment and make sure everything's OK there? And tell Sarah I'm fine."

He did so immediately, then relayed, "Sarah says that she is fine, but she and Barricade cannot find Amaranth."

"Tell her Amaranth's fine, she's on the human side of medbay with an injured man, but she wasn't hurt. Tell her to stay put for a little while."

Ratchet passed the information along, and reassured Sarah that no one had been killed before he disconnected.

Parker said, "Ratchet, we'll be transporting Hemmings to O'Callaghan. Kelley over there looks like he's got a minor concussion, could you scan him for me, please?"

"Certainly. I see no evidence of anything more than minor trauma, no bleeding or swelling. His electrical patterns are those typical of normal consciousness."

"OK. Tsung, he's all yours—have Jolt repeat the cranial scan in the morning, sooner if you have reason to suspect an issue might be developing."

"Yes, doctor."

Optimus asked, "How did he get all the way over there? It makes no sense for a sentry to have been standing there, but I doubt he got far with that head injury."

The nurse, Tsung, shook her head. "I don't know, sir, that's where I found him when I got here."

The other injured man, Hemmings, said from his stretcher, "The big red and black one smacked him in the head, but then that smaller one zapped him over there, like he didn't want him to get stepped on. He didn't try to hurt anyone, either. All he wanted was the energon cubes. I think he's just a kid, Colonel."

Lennox and Optimus shared a significant look, and Lennox said, "Yeah, just like the child soldiers we ran into in the Gulf. Hell of a thing."

Flareup said, "The red-and-black one is Flatline. He's lucky that glitch left him alive."

Arcee said quietly, "He's gone, Flare. He wouldn't dare hang around once we knew he was here."

When Lennox got to the medbay to pick up Amaranth, he found Barricade kneeling to talk to her. "I was pretty scared when I saw you out there, but you did great," the former Decepticon said. "I wanted to tell you, though, that if you shoot a human in the eye, that human usually dies. But if you want to kill a Decepticon, you have to shoot them in the spark. Mine's right here," and he laid his servo on it. "That's about where everybody's is."

Amaranth was, at this point, very tired. Her eyes filled with tears. "But I aimed for it! I just missed! And I don't _want_ to shoot you in the spark, Cade-Cade!" she wailed, clinging to him. "I want you to finish the story!"

Barricade looked startled, but picked her up and held her close. Then he saw Will. "I don't know how she got involved, Colonel," he said. "I got the comm and stood guard outside my quarters in case…"

"Yeah. Good thinking, Barricade." Will found a smile somewhere, pasted it into place. "Tell you what, if you'll go finish that story, I'll do what I need to here, and be with you shortly."

"Thank you, Colonel," Barricade said. He stood with Amaranth still in his arms, clinging tightly to his neck and sobbing.

"After this, I think you can call me Will, Barricade," the colonel said.

He sighed, went to his office, and began receiving verbal reports, which would be followed by making reports of his own to the Pentagon and the White House. Then, he'd be able to pick up Amaranth; but a message from Sarah relayed by Bumblebee and Prowl said she'd do that, and that she loved him.

The attack on the antenna farm had also taken out the base's cell tower; fortunately they still had landlines, so they weren't completely cut off. But Lennox was surprised at how much he had come to depend on his cell phone until he kept turning it on out of habit and getting a no-signal message rather than a few bars.

He said, "Come," as Graham knocked at his door.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Flareup had been a soldier all her adult life—and a few vorn before that as well. She blocked her cohort bonds in combat as a matter of course. It was bad enough to get shot, without echoing the pain and shock through your bonds. Distracting others at an inopportune time could cause them to get hit as well. Therefore, Barricade hadn't known she was more upset by the raid than anyone else was, until after things settled down, and they all reached out to their cohorts once again.

::Flare, are you injured? What's your status?::

::I'm fine, but that glitch of a fraggin' medic Flatline isn't going to be when I get my servos on him! I can't believe he had the ball bearings to come here after what he did!::

Barricade asked, ::Is he still on base somewhere?::

::No, he ran like the no-good coward he is,:: she replied. ::I doubt he got three paces from the warper the whole time.::

::Where are you? Are you sure you're all right?::

::I'm helping clean up the mess down here at the motor pool. The fraggers stole our energon cubes! We're making sure there aren't any still here under the debris.::

::Slag!::

::Oh, if you have any in your subspace, give them to Prowl. He's assessing our resources.::

::OK. I have the Trine and Amaranth Lennox here. But as soon as I can find someone to watch them I'll help with the clean-up. The main hangar is completely trashed, but Wheeljack says it's still structurally stable. Somehow.::

::Thank Primus for small miracles,:: she replied. ::What the frag are we going to do for energon now!::

::It's probably not as bad as you think. I have two cubes, I always kept one for myself and one for the Trine because you never know when you'll have to bug out with what you've got on you.::

That reassured her, and mountains of junk that had to be moved from point A to point B kept her too busy to think about whatever had her so upset. Barricade didn't think it was the fight, because most Autobots loved a good dustup as much as the 'Cons did, even if they didn't want to admit it. A few humans had been hurt, only one of them severely, and he was going to live—the injuries were bad enough, but as situations went they'd all been through much worse. No, this was something else, but he didn't know the details of her history well enough to figure it out.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

After the alarums and excursions of that entirely _bloody_ Christmas eve, Sam found that some person or persons unknown (Cybertronian variety) had stepped on his duffel, rendering his laptop toast. He turned this problem over to Que, who tilted his helm on one side and said "Fascinating," then went to his quarters.

He found that he had not seen Bumblebee during the battle because Bee was right outside their quarters, guarding Carly.

The yellow 'bot knelt, and enfolded him in strong, metal arms. Sam felt some part of Bee right itself; perhaps some conflict between guarding him and guarding Carly? _Oh, Bee. That you would do this for me ..._

Sam put his head down on Bee's spark, and felt so…_comforted_…that he entirely lost track of time. He was startled to hear Carly say, "May I join you?"

He and Bee made arm-room on the same side without thinking about it. There was a long, extended kiss between two of the three participants, while the third looked on approvingly.

"Your baby is getting very large, Carly," Bee said, in a variety of clips he _must_ have chosen, Sam realized, to make her giggle.

"Yes, well, it's going to get worse before it gets better, Bee! I have the last third of this pregnancy still to get through."

"Please do not explode."

Even the baby kicked at that one.

Some time later, Carly, who had come out without more than a light jacket, shivered. "I should get back inside." She kissed Sam, and laid her head on Bee's spark for a moment. "Thank you, Bee. I don't think I can ever say 'thank you' enough. Will you be long enough for me to start a pot of tea?"

"No, Carly. I must report to medbay, and then assist with cleanup."

She put her hand on his arm plating. "Are you all right?"

He smiled down at her from his height. "I believe so. I had a transient occurrence that was puzzling, however, and I wish to make sure that all is well."

The Guardian and his charge watched the charge's wife and child return to their home. Then Sam turned to Bee. "Come see us when you're sure you're all right." He laid his head briefly on Bee's spark again. "Thank you. Thank you, thank you. There aren't enough words in English to tell you how grateful I am."

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Christmas Day was, for all intents and purposes, over. The presents had been exchanged, the dinner eaten, the football games begun.

At the base, those games went unwatched. Every able-bodied person of any species and every age was either participating in the cleanup, or freeing others to do so. Carly had volunteered to split her time between the kitchen and the youngest kids, so after walking with her to the commons, Sam veered off to find the Prime, to whom he had been assigned.

Optimus smiled, lifting several tons of junk that had once been three rather nice airplanes, including Parker's ultralight, and setting them to one side. "Sam."

"Optimus, excuse my phrasing, but how did this"—Sam waved a hand at the disaster that had been the main hangar—"happen? I would have thought…" He had one of the wide, flat-bladed shovels the Cybertronians had pulled out of thin air for this work, and would send back into thin air when it was done. He set to work clearing an area of the floor.

"It was quite carefully timed, Sam. They waited until most of us, Cybertronian or human, were likely to be elsewhere, celebrating a holiday with our human friends."

"Those guys Jazz was trying to track told them about it."

"Very likely. Since Soundwave's frame was accounted for after Chicago, after Jazz' encounter with him on the web it is obvious that the protoform was stolen for him. The energon…they must all be getting very short on it, and the warper in the sortie party was visibly very much a youngling, a child soldier just into that upgrade. I cannot begrudge a child the necessary energon he or she needs to grow."

Sam slowly pushed a pile of small debris into a perfect square. "I might be able to grudge him or her the need to put my wife and kid in danger."

"I cannot argue with you there," said the Prime, and shifted more once-expensive mangled metal. His effort left much of the hangar area, or what used to be the hangar area, clean except for small items, which could be shifted by one human person or two at most.

Que commed the Prime just as Sam completed shoveling the smaller debris into several discrete piles, and they were finished.

The Prime let Lennox, who was similarly busily shoveling debris out of the way at the motor pool, know that this was so, and the leader of the Autobots and Sam left for the antenna farm.

"Wheeljack!" said Optimus. "What have you found?"

"Hello. Hello, Sam, nice to see you again."

"Thanks. You all right, Que?"

"Oh, yes, yes, it didn't take Ratchet any time at all to repair me, but it was more than I could do to get him to let me out of the repair bay until this morning. Thank you for asking. I found something interesting. Look at this antenna." The scientist pulled from his subspace a—thing—which resembled a 1960s pop-art daisy. This daisy, though, had begun life as the signal-concentrating dish of an antenna. "That kind of damage comes only from spacewarp capability," Que said, turning the piece over in his long, slender fingers, and looking for all the world like Albert Einstein on a good-hair day. "The torsion damage to the atomic bonds…oh, yes, it's very clear that a spacewarper did this."

"We know that the sortie party was six in number. Two humans, Blitzwing, Lugnut, Flatline, and that youngling warper who escaped with Flatline when we first moved back here."

"This damage was the first inflicted on us; with the antenna farm out, we couldn't get help from Nellis. I think that, along with the theft of the protoform, proves Soundwave's involvement. Say whatever else you like about that slagger, he's a very competent tactician. And I can give you a rough sequence of events right now. When Ratchet brings Jazz out of stasis, today or tomorrow he says, Jazz might be able to tell us what he saw. It's he who raised the first alarm, Prowl said."

Optimus blenched at the memory: Jazz' voice, calm as a Chinese poem, saying clearly and without haste and with no trace of the accent he usually employed, ::We have at least two Decepticons inside the base. I repeat, we have two Decepticons inside base perimeter. Presently they are attacking the hangar. I say again, they are presently attacking the hangar.:: Then there was a tremendous explosion, and surveillance tapes told the rest of the story.

Optimus had been in Las Vegas with Diarwen at the time he got that comm, and during their subsequent flight back to base had heard all the comms relating to the battle. But at 260 mph the distance between the town and the base was shortened to fifteen or so minutes, ten of those used up in getting clear of Las Vegas at much lower speeds. He'd radioed the police, asking for escort, but they had nothing fast enough. They cleared the road ahead of him instead of everything but rescue vehicles. Sunny and Sides made good speed as well, catching Optimus at the last turn before the base.

But none of them got there before the battle ended.

"Yes," he said now. "Please reconstruct it for me. I'll have you do the same at the senior officer's meeting later today."

"Right," Que said. "The unknown youngling, being a warper, used that method of travel to get from the antenna farm to the motor pool, roughly concurrent with the attack on the hangar, which was diversionary in nature. The youngling began warping in and out with cubes of energon, presumably to a place where they could be picked up, and then subspaced as many as he could carry. Flatline also subspaced cubes. NEST troops engaged them there, but Flatline provided cover fire for a time while the warper continued his theft. Then the warper grabbed Flatline and they were gone. One of the human sentries stationed there, Optimus, reports that the youngling warped another sentry, injured, to safety.—All of the damage in the motor pool, beyond the theft, looked defensive rather than offensive, except for that caused by accessing the energon."

"Then," said Optimus, "we have the theft of a protoform from the storage around medbay."

"The two humans were responsible for that. While the protoforms were stored under lock and key, using Cybertronian technology, surveillance tapes showed them using some device that made short work of that. Jazz will run photometric IDs on the two when he can. The two summoned the warper with implants, or at least this is what the surveillance tapes indicated. He returned and picked them up, carrying them and the protoform away. Blitzwing had previously been routed by Amaranth —"

"By _Amaranth_. Who is four years old," Sam said incredulously.

"Yes," Que said noncommittally, and waited for further comment from Sam, but there was none. He went on, "Lugnut disengaged, and the attack was over."

Sam remembered jumping out of Bee, whom he didn't see again until the battle was over, dropping his duffel in the dirt, and grabbing a rocket launcher from Graham. He saw Ironhide and Chromia fighting to save the hangar. He couldn't remember having looked at the antenna farm or the motor pool.

Jazz had already been taken out by then; Sam saw Ratchet only as he was disappearing with Jazz in his arms. Prowl fought like a demon to cover their retreat.

They knew now that Jazz had sent Barricade a warning. Jazz, at least, had trusted the former Decepticon implicitly.

How had Amaranth escaped Barricade's custody? Barricade had volunteered to share his memory files from the period of the battle, and they showed a fascinating private side to the former Decepticon, but they didn't show Amaranth's escape or any sign of it. And individual quarters weren't surveilled.

The files confirmed Barricade's account of Jazz' warning. If the ex-Decepticon wanted to return to his former fellows, that was the time to do it. Instead, he stood guard over the sparklings, human or Cybertronian, in his charge.

He also commed Ironhide with an ex-comrade's knowledge of the attackers' vulnerabilities. So the one good thing to come out of this mess might be that there was no longer any question of Barricade's loyalty.

Amaranth, however—she wasn't saying how she got out, and she wasn't showing her route to any of her little friends. Once she joined the battle, she saved the lives of Binns, Chase, and Banes by grabbing another rocket launcher from a NEST soldier who lay wounded nearby, and shooting Blitzwing in the optic with it when the big Decepticon threatened them. It was just the sort of bad luck that sometimes happens in battle that Chase and Banes had been bingo ammo at the same time as Binns' weapon jammed.

"Que," Optimus said, "when things have settled down a bit, I want you to research a linkage that could be attached to or built into weapons borne by a group of humans. It will sound an alarm individual to each person when one of the group is running low on ammunition. Something amenable to adaptation to the current head's-up display would be most useful, but one without it could be used here on base. It might be more useful if it were group-based rather than proximity-based."

"Sir," Que said, acknowledging the order. "With your permission, I'll begin making replacement energon cubes as quickly as possible."

"How many do you believe can be replaced, and how quickly?"

Que made a helpless noise. "I'll have to source the materials before I can even give you an estimate, Prime. I have three cracked ones, including a large one, that can be repaired. I'll have those ready in a few joor. But, as for making more...I'll have to find Earth materials to substitute for whatever I can't salvage from the Decepticon vehicles at Area 51."

Optimus nodded, and he and Sam returned to work.

There was more after that. A lot more. It was hard on Sam, but harder on the Cybertronians, now short on fuel. Three or four of the wounded had, with Ratchet's permission, gone into stasis. It would delay their healing, but help their comrades. When their work was done, Burnout, Killstrike, the tractor gestalt, and the Little Twins had also gone voluntarily into stasis. Wheelie was still with Carly, but had gone into a rouseable power-down mode. Brains was doing admin work, piggybacked off the grid to keep his batteries charged.

Ratchet had the mecha in stasis stacked like cordwood in medbay, where he could send a single electromagnetic pulse to wake them all if the base was attacked again. More importantly he could easily monitor each of the sleepers.

Lunch: Sam took it only when he began to shake, and Optimus flatly refused to work with him any longer until he remedied that. He walked wearily to his quarters, to find Carly there, to his delight. "Optimus sent me home," she said. "He said that if we let the 'cons take this time with me away from you, they've won on some level that's actually more important than the loss of a protoform to Soundwave." Tears shone in her eyes, and she reached for him.

"Honey," he said, evading her. "I smell."

"Yes, you do," she said, negating that evasion and hugging him to her as tightly as the bulge of their son in her belly would allow. "And I don't care."

He showered and ate soup and salad, taking with him a sandwich which he consumed one-handed while walking back to the carnage, and a bottle of water.

More shoveling. Bots were given half-rations when they yellow-lined. Optimus, Barricade, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, and Bee, whose energon levels were highest before the battle, had worked nonstop since the end of it.

Somewhere between lunch and sundown, Sam's brain stopped recording details. Optimus sent him home at eight o'clock, with orders that the next day was a rest day for him.

Sam went home, ate another sandwich, managed not to drown in the shower, and fell into bed.

And that was Christmas Day 2011.

End Part 13


	14. Chapter 14

(Disclaimers in Part 1)

Sam Witwicky was, he would have sworn, far too tired to dream. But Life had other plans.

He "woke" into a dream standing on a long, curving, desolate shore where was no plant life of any kind present, neither rooted nor driftwood, and no sign of human civilization anywhere. There were tall spires of rock over uneven ground, and the sky was filled with clouds and the sort of sunlight that breaks through in the gathering of a storm.

That the fluid the shore bordered was not water—in its waves and lappings it did not behave as water did—told him that he was in Cybertronian space within this dream.

In the distance, invisible and nearly inaudible, a lone Cybertronian began to sing.

As he closed the distance between them, Sam heard the voice more clearly. He perceived it as beautiful, which was rather odd as Cybertronian voices, speaking Cybertronian, were most easily cataloged by the human ear as "noise." If a person threw a box of cooking utensils (some of which were Pyrex) down a flight of metal stairs, the result would be about the same. This voice, though, serenely glissandoed its way through several octaves, with no break: not human, precisely, but close to it. Was this how their own language sounded to Cybertronians?

The singer repeated this melody. Then wove another melody into the first, sang it by itself, re-wove the two and last returned to that earlier melody, singing it with a heartbreaking clarity.

Sam felt as if he could almost understand the song, though he only caught the isolated common term. The song concerned the loss of one's love, Sam knew, without being able to understand it word for word. Not so much one's lover as the thing or situation one loved, lacking which one would be changed forever.

When he neared the singer, the source of this voice proved a femme. Her paint job was unusual; he hadn't seen anything like that pearlescent sheen on a Cybertronian's plating before. She also wore some kind of drapery which looked to Sam, who had rarely seen one, like a dancer's costume.

He wondered what function she fulfilled. She seemed no taller than Jazz or Bee, so delicate and slender that she must have weighed half what they did.

Silence fell, and in it, the femme began to dance. Servos and peds moved in cycles that had both nothing and everything to do with one another; they spun through the movements of her dance with grace and speed. Her draperies flowed after her, marking out her passage through time and space.

At some point Sam realized that she danced the dance of Life.

Sam walked toward her. And walked, and walked, and walked. It seemed she must be at the end of the universe, not simply at the end of his line of sight. But her dance and her song, those were clear, bringing back to Sam a sense of great loss and longing and love.

Abruptly, he wondered what Carly was doing at that moment. Then he understood that this was in fact a dream, because while he could sometimes know, instantly, where she was— the sofa in the living room of their quarters, for instance—she put down the paperback she was reading, and smiled at him.

"Listen to me, youngling," the Cybertronian femme said, and Sam's attention, will-he-nill-he, switched back to her.

She began to tell him the story of two Cybertronians, kept apart by caste, who had seen one another through an open window, and fallen helplessly into sparkbond at the sight. But then she cocked her head, with its beautiful crown ornament, toward something Sam could neither see nor hear, and said, "I see that he comes. You will tell him of our long journey to meet you, please," and vanished.

No puff of smoke, no coruscating rainbows, no special effects. There one moment, gone the next.

And in that next moment, Optimus Prime strode into sight. It took him, Sam noted, much less long to reach Sam than it had taken Sam to fail to approach the femme.

He woke with a start, Carly's weight a comfort beside him. His phone was on its charger beside him, and he picked it up to e-mail himself the details of the dream.

Then he turned over in bed, put an arm around his wife and child, and went back to sleep.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

The day after Sam's day of rest, Optimus invited him to his office, "At your convenience, Sam. After the dream we shared Christmas night, I wished to speak with you."

Sitting in the human visitor's chair at the top of a staircase on Optimus' desk an hour and a half later, Sam blew out his breath. "We shared a dream."

"Yes. In that dream a dancing femme ordered you to tell me of her coming…I believe she said 'our arrival.' I may have mentioned her to you. Her name is Milestrina. That assures us that others of my kind are on their way here."

Sam felt the room swing around him, and breathed out once more. "I thought…" He steadied himself. "You know I've had two more dreams that were…I don't wanna call them 'precognitive,' that's just too weird."

Optimus' warm chuckle surrounded him. "Sam, I am afraid you are going to have to resign yourself to the weirdness. Our sharing of that dream, your third, means that a bond has formed between you and me, a bond of brotherhood."

Sam's knees gave out, and if he hadn't been sitting down to start with he might have fallen. "You're kidding, right? How can a Cybertronian and an Earth…person…have a bond of brotherhood?"

"My guess would be that when you saved my life at the cost of your own, Primus deemed you worthy of that gift."

"But…" Sam put both elbows on his knees. "But others, other Cybertronians, must have saved you over the years! Ratchet's saved you over and over again! Why not them! Why not him!"

"Probably because they did not have their hands wrapped around the Matrix of Leadership at the time, Sam. I am sorry this distresses you so."

"Optimus, I'm just this ordinary guy. Nothing special. No one to write home about. Why me?"

There was a long pause while the two held optics, and then Optimus said, "Sam, I fear you are going to have to give up this idea of being 'an ordinary guy.' Ordinary guys do not get into Princeton on scholarship."

"But that's…different."

"Only in scope. You have much more to offer than you believe you do, Sam. Prepare yourself for greatness, because it has been thrust upon you."

"Noooo…"

Interpreting this correctly, not as the wail of a spoiled child but as the cry of someone who has just seen his hopes for himself go up in smoke, Optimus focused on top of Sam's head, as that appendage was currently in his hands. "Sam. Being extraordinary when you have not chosen but _been chosen_ to be so is not easy. You will be happiest if you do all you can, all the time. Accept the gifts and use them."

"Optimus…what, _what_, would I do if I saw Carly and the baby…dying?"

_Ariel_, Optimus thought. _What if I had seen what happened to Ariel_? He seemed to grieve her anew, to the depths of his spark; only the memory of her sweetness when they met beside the Well saved him from sinking into the depths of that. "You would do all you could, Sam. You would read up on what you saw, you might talk to Adele Davis, who once made her living as a precognitive. You would use that information to find out what it was you saw and how to prevent it. You would do all you could. This…gift and curse; Alpha Trion insists that it is both…is a chance to change the course of the future, as you did with Sergeant Epps. Is it not better to have that warning, that chance to act, if any chance at all exists, or can be _made _to exist?"

The man's optics were haunted as they rested on the Prime's. "And if that wasn't enough?"

"Sam. I cannot, no one can, guarantee you a smooth passage through life, free of heartbreak and sorrow. That does not happen for any living, sentient creature. I do not know what you would do, if your knowledge was not sufficient to save those you loved. But I do know that life would go on, however unpleasantly it did so."

There was a very long silence. Finally, Sam said, "No. I guess that isn't guaranteed."

Optimus let Sam's fields settle, and then said, "Are you going to be all right?"

"Eventually. This…." Sam blew out his breath. "It'll take some time to get used to, Optimus."

"Yes," agreed the Prime. "It will."

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Barricade and Ironhide finished moving the last of the large pieces of wreckage out of the way. Barricade asked, "What happened to Flareup today?"

"I didn't know anything happened to her. Was she hurt?"

"No, nothing like that, but something really freaked her out and I don't know what it was. She was on about Flatline—"

"That explains it. They have a history, but it ain't my place to tell you about it. You need to ask her. What do you know about him?"

"Not much—I tried to stay out of medbay! But he saved my life a couple of times. He's a medic, for scrap's sake, how do they even know each other?"

Ironhide's fields pulled in, angry and spiky, and Barricade was abruptly reminded why no one with a working processor had ever wanted to go up against the formidable black mech on the battlefield. He said, "Like I said, talk to her about it. She probably needs you to."

"OK. If you don't need me for anything else I think I'll check on her now."

"Do that," Ironhide replied.

Cade got clear of the piles of wreckage and transformed, then pinged Flareup for her location.

The sisters were helping Jazz and Chip with the antenna farm, as restoring comms was top priority. He got there in time to get drafted into setting up the Army's main satcom dish, since his height and reach were so much greater than the mini-bots'. The smaller dishes were easily wrangled into place, then it was a matter of taking a compass and pointing them at the right satellites. That led to some interesting shop-talk between Chip, who was staring at a laptop, and Jazz, who was aiming the dishes. One particular turn of phrase involved "squirting the bird"—which, Chip assured them, had nothing to do with "flipping the bird."

Once all the satellite dishes were online, there was much rejoicing, and upon reporting to Prowl, they were told to knock off for the night as soon as a fire team of soldiers arrived to guard the antenna farm. It was too wasteful of energon to have the bots out in the cold for no good reason.

As they drove back to base, Barricade asked Flareup, ::What gives? You've been quiet all day, and when you're quiet, something ain't right.::

::I've been busy.::

::I know that, but...there's something else. Tell me, Flare.::

::Not here.::

::OK. Let's get our ration and go home.::

Flareup smiled. _Home. _::OK.::

Their discussion got put off again when they got back, because the Trine had been frightened by the intrusion. They needed some family time to reassure them that they were still safe. Barricade had never felt like more of a liar, because for the life of him he couldn't see a reason why Soundwave's gang couldn't do that again any time they wanted to, and he might not be at home with the sparklings when it happened. Even so, they spent the evening teaching the littles a simplified sparklings' version of strateka, with only two identical city-states, two board levels, fewer pieces, and a less-complicated scoring system.

Eventually, the sparklings lined up on the back of the couch and Barricade plugged each of them into the grid, recharging their batteries from the power lines so they wouldn't need to burn energon to do that. Each of them flapped wings at him in response to the unfamiliar sensation. At least they were too young to get the dirty jokes everyone else was making!

"I know, it feels funny at first. But you're just gonna have to put up with it, OK? You'll stay nice and warm."

Song said sleepily, "'K, Cade-Cade." She shuttered her optics and went into recharge. Putting up with situations that felt funny—or hurt like the Pit—was a skill she'd learned way too early, but she set a good example for her brothers. After a minimum of flapping, rustling, and rearranging of electrical cables, the mechlings also powered down.

Barricade drew Flareup to the other side of the room, and she curled up against his side. ::Flare, what is it? What happened?::

::It was so long ago. I feel like an idiot to dredge it all back up now.::

::Flare. Ironhide told me you and Flatline have a history, but that the rest of it wasn't his business to tell me. What happened?::

::It was earlier in the war. Arcee and I were serving as messengers then, things Teltraan didn't want take a chance on the 'Cons getting. We were on our way back from Simfur to Iacon, and instead of taking the long way around through Autobot territory, we decided to cut through the barrens. Yes, it was stupid. We were captured by a patrol and taken to a camp on the outskirts of Tarn. It was under the command of an energon broker named Octane. Did you know him?::

::Knew of him. He was good at finding energon for us, but Megatron never let him corner too much of the market because he was a thief. He tried a powerplay against Shockwave, and Shocky fed him to his driller.::

::Ewww! Nasty way to go, even for him. Anyway, Flatline was their medic. Now, you have to remember up until then, we'd always thought we were fairly safe, if we didn't get ourselves killed in battle. Now, one time, we'd been caught before. Megatron didn't do anything to us, just locked us up, let Optimus know that he had us, and traded us for someone. We weren't harmed. But Megs was still...pretty much himself then, y'know?::

::I remember. Every time he'd go away for a while, he'd come back different. More powerful, but a little more..._off_. If, like Jazz said, the Fallen was supplying him with dark energon, it all makes sense now.::

::This time was different. Megs wasn't there, none of the high command were, just this mech, Octane. He told Flatline to get all the information he could out of us, said Megatron would pay him for that and he'd sell us back to Chromia. We just had to still be functioning. We tried to tell him we were just younglings, nobot trusted us with any important information. Pit, we didn't even know what was in the courier bags, just where we were supposed to take them and the recognition code we were supposed to get before we turned them over. But Octane didn't believe us and Flatline didn't care. He had this theory that he could make us cooperate by drugging one of us and forcing a sparkbond. You know, because we're split-spark twins, we'd both be bonded.::

::Flareup, you're not bonded to that glitch, are you?::

::No, thank Primus, it didn't work. But he _did_...he spark-raped me. I was too doped up to fight him off. I thought I was over it. But when he came here, to our home…and then he was able to just leave, and we couldn't stop him…::

::Frag. He saved my life a couple times. But I never knew he did anything that sick. I'll kill him. I swear. If I ever see him again, I'll kill him myself.::

::Get in line.::

::All right, I'll back you up. But if I catch him when you're not around, I can't swear I'll wrap him up in a nice little bow and bring him to you, either.::

She laughed a little. ::Fair enough.::

::I'd like to make you forget all about him, but we can't afford the energon. I'm sorry, Flareup. I'm sorry this happened to you, I'm sorry he was part of the raiding party. The war's over. This slag's supposed to go away now, ain't it?::

::I don't think it'll ever go away. Not entirely. There's always going to be things to dredge it all back up.::

::What can I do to make it better?::

::Don't think the less of me if I'm…clingy…for a while? I just don't want to be alone.::

His arms went around her, and he felt her relax a bit. ::You don't have to be. If you're not here with me and the littles, your original cohort will be there. And you'll never have to worry about being alone from your twin, right? You got too many mecha around you to ever be alone—sometimes even if you want to be.::

::I know, that's true. But sometimes I feel alone, and I'm not as strong as I think I oughta be.::

::None of us is. But they said you and Arcee went hunting for that glitch. That sounds pretty strong to me.::

::I guess.::

::I never thought about it before but—twins. Should I be courtin' Arcee too? Am I leaving her out? I don't want to cause trouble between the two of you. What if you found a sparkmate and wanted to bond someday? How does that even work with twins?::

::Well, twins are one spark, so we're already bonded to each other. If I found a sparkmate, we could bond with them. Arcee would have to be there too that first time, but we've talked about it and that's cool. We want each other to be happy. But it's complicated. She's had a thing for Sides for a long time, and I'm pretty sure it goes both ways. Sunny and me, though, we're more like brother and sister. Don't get me wrong, I love him like a brother, but for us to be together? Just, no. If they want to try to bond, we'll help them do that, but there's no way we'd ever have a real four-way spark bond. And, you know, when we were getting shot at all the time—if she and Sides had bonded, and one of them had been killed, then...if Sunny or I weren't enough to hold whoever was left alone, then one lucky shot could have taken out all four of us. It would have been irresponsible to do that during the war.::

::I guess it'd be kind of irresponsible now, with the sparklings so young.::

::They won't be that young for long.::

::So...and this is just me speculatin', right?::

::Ri-ight,:: she responded with a smile.

::If, say, you and I were to bond, and Arcee and Sideswipe, then you and your sister would both be technically bonded to me, and both Sideswipe _and_ Sunstreaker?::

::Umm, technically, yeah. I guess if there was enough high-grade involved, well, define "technically."::

::But if your sister's not here, then we don't have to hold back any more than we want to, 'cause we can't end up bonded without her half of the shared spark.::

::Yeah, that's true. I thought you knew that.::

::How would I know that? I never been with a twin before.::

::Yeah, that makes sense. I guess we're just used to havin' twins underfoot.::

::What's with all the twins on the Autobot side?::

::I don't know, just lucky I guess. Let me see, you all had, uh, Dreadwing and Skyquake, and Rumble and Frenzy.::

::Yeah. Frenzy.::

::What?::

::This was before you came to Earth. Frenzy was assigned to work with me getting the glasses from Sam Witwicky. Frenzy got killed on that mission. Kaela Banes cut his head off.::

::Holy slag. No, I didn't know that. And she couldn't have known he was a twin, or even what that meant.::

::I'm not saying she did. It was in battle, and we didn't have any orders about capturing her, so she did what she had to do. I just feel bad about the little punk, that's all. I let him get too far ahead of me and, well.::

::I don't think you coulda stopped him. Those symbiotes always were missin' a few lines of code.::

::Yeah, I know. There's just so many things we all coulda done better, and none of it had to happen in the first place.::

::Maybe we'll remember and it won't have to happen again.::

::Maybe.:: Barricade held her close for a long moment. ::Let's get some rest. This has been a Pit of a couple of days.::

::You got that right,:: she sighed, and they quietly made their way to the berthroom. Barricade fumbled with the power line and then tried to figure the best way to get one over to Flareup's side of the berth, but she just smiled and offered him her wrist port. Once connected, their electrical systems synced, and they settled in to let weariness carry them off into darkness together.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

The day after Christmas was another day of hard work. The bots changed their schedule so that they had the middle of the day off for rest, and took their siestas out in the sun.

Even those who had courageously opted to go into stasis were carefully loaded onto flatbed trailers, and Ironhide and Optimus pulled them out into the sunlight.

Ratchet drowsed near his patients. His sensors were connected to the unconscious bots, though the sun, on this strange planet, was now far enough below the equator that its rays hit the base at too great an angle to cause overheating. But better safe than sorry.

Even the sparklings and Brains and Wheelie could safely rest outside, although in all those cases "rest" usually meant "slightly less motion than usual."

Their remaining energon cubes—mostly the smaller ones which nearly everyone kept squirreled away in subspace—were laid out within easy reach to be grabbed and subspaced if the base were raided a second time.

A mare's nest of power cables tangled among the resting bots, allowing them to recharge from the power grid.

The NEST soldiers stood watch, and they had dug in three anti-aircraft emplacements protecting the lot. If Soundwave's seekers decided to raid again, there would be plenty of noise and very likely falling bits of armor plating to wake the resting bots. NEST, individually and collectively, was royally pissed about the raid, and the danger it had posed to their loved ones: given the opportunity, or even the remote chance of creating one, they would make very sure that Soundwave regretted it.

Diarwen was there as well, sitting in the shade with her datapad, seeming to have not a care in the world. The sword at her side told a different story.

A helicopter came in from Nellis, and the bots all looked up to see who it was, then went back to sleep when their scans confirmed the identities of both the Earth vehicle and its human passengers. Only Optimus ejected his power cable and transformed to greet the helo as it came in.

Charlotte Mearing and Seymour Simmons climbed down, ducking their heads against blade wash. Simmons, Optimus noted, was walking fairly well, and had exchanged the heavy cast that he had worn for months after the Battle of Chicago for a lighter one held on by Velcro straps. He used a cane, but didn't seem to rely on it much except to take some of the weight off his bad leg when standing still.

Mearing. who had not changed much, took a look around, scowling at the large pile of scrap in the desert beyond the airstrip: very expensive scrap that she was going to have to account for. She asked, "Jazz, Hemmings, and Kelley?"

Optimus pinged Ratchet for the latest information on them, then said, "Kelley will return to light duty in a day or two. Jazz' frame is recovering in medbay, although he himself prefers to be in the mainframe here, continuing his work on various projects. Hemmings is in the orthopedic ward at O'Callaghan. The doctors there still hope to save his leg, and Ratchet believes that it is possible if he avoids further complications."

Simmons made a sympathetic noise, as his own injuries had been very similar to Hemmings'. One of the doctors had made noises about taking his leg off until he'd raised hell about it. He intended to perform the same service for Hemmings.

Mearing looked around. The damn 'Cons had marched straight into base housing and trashed the place. "It could've been a lot worse."

Optimus nodded. "It is fortunate that their objective was theft, and not all-out war. Would you like to continue in my office, or to survey the damage at the motor pool?"

"Anything to see there that wasn't in the after-action intel?"

"To my knowledge, no. They used no special methods that we can discover."

"Then I don't need to see it."

He slowed his pace for Simmons as they walked down the long central corridor of Hangar B to his office. "Director, has there been any success in tracking them after they left the base?" Optimus asked.

Simmons grimaced, and Mearing shook her head. "No, nothing showed up on the energon detectors. I suspect they've mapped every single fraggin' one of 'em, and use the warper to avoid them."

"That is most likely," Optimus agreed. "Your military computer network is formidable, but Soundwave is an expert hacker. If anyone could gain access to any system ever constructed, it is he. It is also possible that they have physically mapped the detectors in some way."

Mearing nodded. "They still can't move masses of troops overland without being spotted, but we can't stop small raiding parties from making sorties at will."

"A lot like Vietnam," Simmons mused.

Mearing shot him a Look. "The good thing is, this time we kept it out of the press by explaining it as a training exercise, so Congress won't make an issue of it. But we need to catch those mutts. POTUS is not happy with us right now."

"No, he is not, and in his place, nor would I be," Optimus said. "As your people put it, we dropped the ball, and it has cost us."

Once they were behind closed doors in Optimus' office, Mearing asked, "How badly?"

The two humans were sitting on an elevated sofa to which stairs led, Simmons having shaken his head at the steep flight leading up to the usual visitor's area.

Optimus made a note to put a ramp in to both. He could expect injured visitors on a regular basis, and they should be better accommodated.

In answer to Mearing's question, he shook his head. "Many of my mecha are damaged, and we do not have the energon available to heal them in timely fashion. A number of mecha, both slightly injured and whole, have volunteered to enter stasis in order to conserve energon for the more seriously wounded and the very young. The best fighters among us are still available, though on short rations as we all are. Many of my injured bots are performing admin tasks because they can do nothing else to free up those still sound enough to fight. We who are uninjured are restricting activity and maintaining a rationing schedule. We have survived short rations before, so we are capable of making do. Each of us carries on our person enough energon to supply us for a day or two, so we still have those cubes. We are not at the point of starvation. Maintaining military readiness, however, has abruptly become problematic."

"Wheeljack can take whatever he needs from 51."

"Good. Thank you. The Decepticon fliers, like most of our non-sentient vehicles, are equipped with energon production equipment. Some of that should be salvageable."

"Some of it was. Keep that to yourself, the oil companies don't know about it yet and we don't want them to until the very last minute."

"If security on that is tight enough to keep the multinationals away, then it is unlikely that Soundwave is aware of it either. Perhaps we can work together on this. I would not mind having a second site that produced energon outside of his knowledge. He will underestimate us if he believes our reserves are much lower than they truly are."

"If we knew where he was getting his intel from, then we might be able to feed him more false information," Mearing mused. "Lead him into a trap, once you have enough energon reserves built up."

"All will depend on how much energon the facility at Area 51 can produce," Optimus said. "And, of course, on locating the renegades."

Mearing cocked her head at him, and adjusted her glasses. "What do you think their ultimate plan is?"

Optimus steepled his fingers, which gave him time enough to aggregate and collate data, and reach a conclusion. "Soundwave's drives have never been apparent to me. The worst-case scenario is that he is planning to resuscitate Megatron. As you know, three of us have been returned from the dead, so we cannot rule out the possibility that he might succeed. He never seemed to wish to accumulate power for himself throughout the war, though that may have changed."

"So we'll be boxing in the dark," Mearing said. "We've won at that before."

Optimus smiled at her. "Yes. Whatever his goals, Soundwave is patient. It's most likely that he will work very slowly from hiding and infiltrate positions of power with Pretenders, or subvert humans, as he did with the mole network he built at NASA and the Russian space program.

"It's unlikely that he himself will take part in any further raids; he would not have fought at Chicago had Megatron not ordered him to do so. That was a poor use of his abilities, but a fortunate error from our point of view."

"Resuscitating Megatron," Simmons mused. "I don't want to know where the remains are, but is there any possibility of him getting them, if that's his goal?"

"There is always a possibility, but his success in that enterprise carries an extremely low probability."

"Won't that make it more difficult for Megatron to be resuscitated?"

Optimus shook his head. "Lack of remains was no barrier to Prowl's or Jazz' resurrection, so we must assume not."

Simmons nodded. Optimus continued, "His plan now that he has sufficient energon to supply his mecha will undoubtedly be to go dark and rebuild his network, possibly utilizing more Pretender protoforms to do so, if he can create or acquire them. We must not allow him to accomplish that, or in a decade or so, when the tide of fear is not running as high as that of greed, we will find his tentacles in everything. His influence then will be extremely difficult to excise. If we find him, in battle we could easily find ourselves destroying his frame again and again, only to have him jump into a local wireless network to escape, or even use nearby power lines. Dead, Soundwave remains a formidable enemy."

"A decade's a very long time from the human perspective, Optimus. It's been ten years since the attack on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, and al Qaeda is still out there, but the American people are ready for the war to be _over_. It won't take another decade before greedy, treasonous sorts will work with al Qaeda, and the situation with Soundwave won't be any different. In fifteen years at most, if he throws bait he'll get bites."

"Then finding him swiftly becomes even more imperative."

"Agreed. We need to supply Melendez with something more attractive to Soundwave, something to get him deeper into their organization. Right now he's the best lead we have."

"Yes, that's true. But what could Soundwave possibly want from us that the raid did not procure for him? His minions showed no interest in anything beyond the protoform and the energon cubes."

"I agree that he is unlikely to want anything you have, but possibly something that we might acquire will prove better bait. This is information that I would have acted upon swiftly, Soundwave or no Soundwave, but under the circumstances fast response becomes imperative." She withdrew a photograph from her briefcase and dropped it on the scanner beside the sofa, the easiest way for them to share paper documents. He activated the scanner and examined the resulting file.

Optimus looked down at her, optics bright. "This could change everything."

End Part 14


	15. Chapter 15

(Disclaimers in Part 1)

After their meeting, Mearing and Simmons took a Humvee into the city to visit Hemmings in the hospital (and in Simmons' case, raise hell on his behalf). Optimus went back outside, but Mearing's information had opened up too many possibilities for him to shut down for the rest of the joor. He transformed and settled in the sun to think it over, hoping that Ironhide or Chromia, or better yet both, would be awake soon.

Diarwen came over and waited for his permission to take her usual seat on his running board. Instead he opened his door and she climbed into his cab. "Was Director Mearing very angry?"

"Yes, but not with us. The President, on the other hand..."

"Aiee."

"I hope that we may soon be in a position to make it up to him."

"In what way?"

He displayed the photo that Mearing had given him on the small screen of his dashboard radio. Diarwen did a double-take, then leaned closer for a better look.

She saw two small Cybertronians, both in root mode: one the upright bipedal model, the other a flying form, sitting on a bare metal bunk in what Diarwen thought was a third-world jail. "What in the world? Is that Frenzy?"

"Rumble, his twin. The other is Buzzsaw, another of Soundwave's symbionts. We assumed them to have been deactivated."

"I was under the impression that one twin could not survive the other?"

"For a short time, possibly, no longer than three months, but the bond between carrier and symbiont is extremely strong as well. Undoubtedly that is how Rumble was able to survive his brother's deactivation. Mearing says that this image is recent, and if the electronic time-stamp has not been doctored before it was applied, it is. I can think of only one way for Rumble and Buzzsaw to have survived Soundwave, and that is by entering into a spark-bond with one another. That is the strongest of bonds between Cybertronians."

"There is something that I do not understand..."

"What is that, Diarwen?"

"Prowl was a casualty of the last battle before you left Cybertron, was he not? And Jazz came with you? That journey could not have been a swift one. How did he survive so long?"

"He wanted to continue his usefulness for as long as possible, so he went into stasis soon after we began our travels. Ratchet only brought him out of it when it was necessary for us to traverse a space bridge. The rest of the time, he was in...what might be termed 'suspended animation' in English. All it did was prolong the inevitable, but it did allow him to survive the journey."

"I see. Goddess, what an awful situation."

"Indeed. That is why few new bonds were formed after war broke out."

"I understand," she said. Then she shook her head and returned to the question of Buzzsaw and Rumble. "But where are they imprisoned? And why are they staying there? Could they not get out?"

"I would not expect a simple human jail to be sufficient to confine them, no. I cannot ascertain from the photograph what means are being used to keep them in place."

Diarwen continued to study Rumble and Buzzsaw. "In my years as an agent for this government, I have visited such places, and none of them would I care to see ever again. But I cannot positively identify this one."

"Jazz is working on that."

One delicate silver eyebrow elevated. "I believed Jazz to be in medical stasis."

"His frame is. He has inhabited his mainframe for the time being. I do not know whether Jazz is aware that Ratchet has Prowl monitoring him to assure that he gets some real rest frequently, but permitting Jazz to entertain himself this way makes him more comfortable, and simplifies everyone else's life considerably. I do not know how we would keep him from astral projection, and Ratchet believes that would put much more stress on his frame than inhabiting the mainframe as a remote does."

"I agree. Projection can be tiring for one already in an injured state. The mainframe, though, is a strong anchor point for him, and from there he can keep himself busy."

"The last time Ratchet put him on berth rest, he collaborated with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker."

"Oh dear Brigit. One can imagine…"

"Believe me, one cannot. That collaboration took place on Cybertron, while we still held Iacon, and resulted in a subroutine being inserted into Ratchet's programming which required him to do the…" Optimus made a noise. "There's no translation for the name of that dance. It's a bit like a samba; however you do it, it's sexual. In any case, the subroutine forced him to do it at all times, save when his surgical subroutines were summoned, and kept him from being aware of this. When he was made aware of it, his revenge was…I believe the human term is 'epic'. This during a time of war when physical incapacity of the perpetrators was out of the question. Imagine if you will a Jazz whose audials interpreted any piece of music as a single tone, and a Sideswipe whose every other word was 'drillerpup.' Imagine a Sunstreaker programmed to believe that rusty sludge of a certain viscosity was a type of dermally-ingestible energon. His vanity…he rolled in the sludge whenever he got hungry, then went immediately to the washracks after, then, still being hungry, went back to the sludge, and repeated this until Sideswipe pinned him down and fed him."

He waited until she had picked herself up, still snorting with laughter, from under his steering wheel.

"Therefore, that is...to be avoided. The only possible outcome worse is a prank war between Jazz and the twins. If that is declared, no one is safe."

"Keeping Jazz widely separated from boredom does sound like the best solution," she said, with a huge grin. "The search for those two will provide him with a fair amount of distraction. And I am certain Prowl will keep him on a short leash regarding getting sufficient rest."

"Yes. It also reduces my command issues in the matter of ensuring that _Prowl_ has sufficient rest. One gives an order and it is carried out to the letter, which is much easier."

Diarwen, who had in her own time commanded a few Sidhe versions of both Jazz and Prowl, grinned again, but then sobered. "Optimus, all these electrical wires—what exactly is the situation with the energon shortage?"

"For the short term, tolerable. We will be able to supply the sparklings fully, and ourselves adequately. Remember that we are accustomed to short rations. The past few months have been the exception rather than the rule. No one is happy to return to the austerity protocols that we followed for vorn, but we certainly know how to deal with limited resources."

"For most of my life, winter was a time of hardship, and so I understand better than you might think I do. Making use of the electrical grid makes sense to me. What other measures do you need to take, and how may I be of help?"

"We must anticipate the possibility of a second raid, though I must admit that I think there is little here that Soundwave might still wish to steal. He may launch another attack for the purpose of killing as many of us as possible. For that reason, many of those less accomplished in combat, along with the less severely wounded and those whose basal metabolism, as Parker would put it, runs high, have chosen to go into stasis. The remaining active force is composed of those of us best suited to defense. Those who do remain awake will strictly limit our usage of energon. That means remaining in root mode when we are active, but taking our alt mode when we can sun ourselves, because it is most efficient. We will keep unneeded systems offline and strictly limit movement to that which is necessary. Ratchet will advise us on the regimen which is both most efficient and least likely to cause damage from prolonged immobility. We will attempt to take turns allowing everyone to completely refuel as often as possible, as long as we can keep enough energon in reserve to allow us to defend ourselves in the event of an attack."

"A complicated problem, dear one. Does it appear that you will be able to create more energon cubes? Or will we have to take them back from Soundwave?"

His voice smiled at his fierce Sidhe. "That, I do not yet know. Wheeljack hopes to salvage necessary materials from the Decepticon fliers at Area 51, and Director Mearing has obtained permission for him to do so. I will send him up there tomorrow to see what is available."

"I see. It is what it is, I suppose."

"I have never had so much cause to regret such a situation before."

"How so, Optimus?"

"I was not in a relationship before. Interfacing tends to burn though energon."

The light dawned concerning giving everyone a full tank as often as they could manage. "I see. Well, all the more reason to hope that we can remedy things soon."

"There is no reason why I cannot attend to your needs."

Diarwen grinned, said, "I appreciate that. But my needs are not so urgent to me as your own, my love. However, I will keep your generous offer in mind should I grow desperate enough to present a danger to public safety."

He laughed, as she intended he should. She smiled more widely, and her hand on his wheel was eloquent of affection shared. "There are meditations for couples which focus on intimacy rather than passion. We might explore such things; it is never a bad investment for a couple to learn more of one another."

A great weight lifted from Optimus' spark. "You continue to surprise me at every turn, so I feel we should do that."

* * *

Parker's intercom buzzed. "Dr. Parker," said the duty nurse, "Mr. Davis is here to see you."

He was late, but then he was a civilian, and likely failed to allow for the time needed to get through not one but several layers of security.

"Escort him to my office, if you would, please," she said.

Mr. Davis proved to be a thin man with a graying mustache. "Dr. Parker," he said, shaking hands. "Brad Davis. Understand you lost your ultralight."

* * *

After landing of the first Cybertronians in 2007, many of NORAD's assets had been repurposed to keep watch for things entering Earth's orbit from outer space, rather than for surface to surface launches. NATO had also launched a series of satellites containing telescopes and various receivers.

Lennox was surveying the repair efforts from the catwalk early on the morning of December 27th, as troops of both races worked together to remove the wreckage and salvage what they could.

An aide came over. "Colonel, there's a call for you, it's General McKenna from NORAD."

Lennox stepped over to the videophone terminal and said, "NEST actual, sir."

"Colonel." McKenna was a slender, dark-haired man with a maple-leaf flag on the shoulder of his uniform. "We've picked up a transmission this morning, and I believe it's one of yours."

"Could you patch it through, sir? We've had a bit of excitement here, and our antenna farm suffered some damage."

"Certainly."

Lennox waved Prime over.

He broke out in a wide grin as soon as the transmission began to play. Others heard it too, and an excited buzz started. Ironhide transmitted a sharp glyph for silence, then repeated it in English .

The transmission was at extreme range, too distant for their personal comms. "Optimus Prime or any Autobot, this is Excellion reporting, please acknowledge."

Optimus swiftly transformed and hitched up his trailer, taking it outside where he had room to transform it into its command station mode and make use of its comms gear. It took him a while to get permission from NATO to piggyback on their satellite system, but even with that delay, it was still the fastest way to triangulate on the signal in order to reply. He did not object to using the human satellites to boost his signal, also.

"Optimus Prime, Excellion. Go ahead."

"Thank Primus, you're alive, sir! I am en route as per your orders, with over three hundred sparks aboard. I am transmitting a list of survivors."

Optimus received it, and immediately broadcast it to the other Cybertronians. A lot of mecha had friends and cohort on that list.

He replied with their own list.

The cleanup was momentarily forgotten in the celebration.

Drift came on the line, having been called out of recharge by the excited young shipformer's news, and while their people celebrated, the two commanders made preliminary plans. They were two orn out—they had twenty-six Earth days to prepare their human allies for the shipformer's arrival.

When the call finished, Optimus went to his office and put a call through to the White House.

Both he, and his human allies, would have a lot of work to do before Excellion got there. He had few illusions; his human allies in Washington would have their work cut out for them. The opposition, already in full-on battle mode to carry out their vows to make the current President's a one-term administration, would certainly be in no mood to cooperate with anything that might possibly make the White House look good.

Optimus Prime wondered what new concessions he would need to make.

(To be continued in A Year in the Life of Optimus Prime: Six)

END


End file.
